


now I am the violence, I am the sickness.

by poisonquiver



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Bad Things Happen Bingo, Good Parent Jim "Chief" Hopper, Good Parent Joyce Byers, Good Sibling Jonathan Byers, Hurt/Comfort, Jonathan Byers-centric, Minor Character Death, Protective Jonathan Byers, Science Experiments, Siblings Will Byers & Eleven | Jane Hopper, Stillbirth, Tags Are Hard, The Author Regrets Everything, The Author Regrets Nothing, The Byers have powers, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Triggers, Trust Issues, Very cursing, much bad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-09-28
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:40:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 35,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25205623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poisonquiver/pseuds/poisonquiver
Summary: Joyce was all set to bring her son home, her happy healthy baby boy.Jonathan Byers is a stillborn.It changes everything and nothing at all.Jonathan Byers is a stillborn - or at least that's what Joyce was told.
Relationships: Jonathan Byers & Eleven | Jane Hopper, Jonathan Byers & Jim "Chief" Hopper, Jonathan Byers & Joyce Byers, Jonathan Byers & Joyce Byers & Will Byers, Jonathan Byers & Joyce Byers & Will Byers & Eleven | Jane Hopper
Comments: 84
Kudos: 90





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [actualkoschei](https://archiveofourown.org/users/actualkoschei/gifts).



> I'm too smart to start another new story when I haven't even begun finishing up my others.
> 
> Here I go writing another new story when I haven't even begun finishing up my others. 
> 
> I'll take what is self-control for 7000 dollars. 
> 
> I own nothing but my bullshit. 
> 
> The plot for this would not shut up. Every waking thought was dedicated to this dumb thing. So because it would not leave me alone, here you go.

The story of Joyce and Lonnie is a whirlwind. They dated off and on all through high school. He'd cheat, she'd forgive him. They'd fight, they'd make up. It wasn't a _good_ match-up, but Joyce was stubborn and determined and _not her mother._ She wasn't about to have a string of failed relationships and be known as a _harlot._ She _wouldn't._ So even when things get tough, she sticks it out.

People talk, but people _always_ talk. She ignores the gossip.

* * *

She's twenty two and she skips a period. 

She's twenty two and she's pregnant.

Happy fucking birthday. 

* * *

People aren't surprised. That - that actually hurts a little. 

The person they are shocked by is Karen Rosencrantz though. The guy's older, they say. Like 40. And _rich._

_Locked it down._ Her friends whisper drunkenly, giggling. Some days Joyce questions why they hang out. Friends of convenience, of circumstance, _definitely_ not of choice. 

They become close, she and Karen, because _of course_ they do.

Nancy is born without much fanfare, an incredibly adorable baby girl with blue eyes and a shock of brown hair. Joyce's heart melts and the kid isn't even _hers._

She starts counting the days. 

* * *

Lonnie stays away longer, comes home smelling like cheap whiskey, with smudged lipstick on his collar. 

She ignores it. 

Not much she can do about it now. 

They paint the nursery blue and she has a baby shower and gets more gifts than she's ever seen before.

Lonnie eyes the swell of her stomach with something like fondness for the first time when the baby's about a month away. 

Better late than never. 

* * *

It's a cold Fall day when her water breaks and she calls Karen before she calls Lonnie - instinctive. 

It's Karen who holds her hand through 10 hours of labour. 

It's Karen who's there when the baby doesn't cry.

It's Karen who's there when she falls apart. 

It's Lonnie who she punches an hour later when he shows up drunk and smelling like cigars. 

"Where's my son?" He asks, a smile in his voice. 

"Dead." She responds, numb. 

* * *

The smallest coffins are the heaviest. 

* * *

They don't let her hold him. He's dressed and made up and put in a _suit_ like he's not 0 days old.

He looks like a doll.

He doesn't look real.

She cries until she passes out. 

After the funeral, Lonnie passes her a glass of whiskey. 

She downs it like a shot. 

It's the expensive shit. 

She doesn't know what to make of that. 

* * *

It's actually good for a while, with them. They enjoy a few years of, if not happiness (they lost a baby,) contentedness. They get married and it's _good._ He doesn't drink so much, he stays faithful. 

She's pregnant again. 

Things in Joyce's life never stay good for long.

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will goes missing. Joyce loses her mind. Two kids escape from a lab. Welcome to Hawkins.

007 wakes up with a start at the feeling of blankets being flung off him. It's not an uncommon way to be woken up but he still flinches. Papa only wakes him up like this when he's done something wrong. He's been good - he knows he's been good, so what?

It's not Papa. 

It's 011 and she looks scared. 

When she sees his eyes are open, she grabs his wrist and pulls him up.

She tugs him off the bed and his knees hit the ground hard, effectively waking him up. 

She doesn't give him time to recover, just drags him along, half folded like a lawn chair until his brain catches up and he rights himself. 

They run for what feels like forever, through doors they've never been through, areas they were not allowed to go near. 

He doesn't know where they are when they stop, but his side aches and his breathing is laboured and 011 still hasn't said anything.

There's the sound of wood sliding upwards and 007 looks to see 011 using her powers to open the window. She climbs out and looks behind her, making sure he's still there.

Her eyes seem to ask if he's coming and he remembers a different window, a different little girl and a different choice. 

He climbs out. 

His bare feet hit the dewy grass and it's like sensory overload. 

He's used to the sterile environment of the lab, the medicinal smells and the echoey silences. He's not used to _this._

He now understands why he'd never been given 'Outside Time' like the others. It's overwhelming. 

There's insects chirping and an alarm he knows isn't anywhere nearby, but sounds like it's pressed right up against his ear. 

The grass tickles his feet and it's like he can feel every individual blade, could, if he wanted, decipher the length of them all. 

There are so many scents, all foreign to him, all exciting. He doesn't know what to make of it. 

011's hand grounds him, gives him a focus point and he latches onto her thankfully as she pulls him along. He closes off his other senses and focuses only on touch, lets 011 be his guide. 

If he hadn't, he might have heard the scream. 

* * *

Will has no idea how long the campaign has been going on for, has no idea what time it is, or if it's still Sunday. There's a buzzing under his skin from too much soda and a dull throb in his leg from sitting still too long, but as it always is when Mike's the DM, time is an illusion.

Mike is having the time of his life tonight, hamming it up for all its worth. He loves being DM. It's a Wheeler trait, that need to be in control. 

"Something is coming. Something hungry for blood. A shadow grows on the wall behind you, swallowing you in the darkness. _It_ is almost here." Mike says, leaning in conspiratorially, snaring the trap. 

Will waits with bated breath. Dustin hedges his bets that it's the Demogorgan.

It's not. 

They relax. 

Mike grins. 

"Wait a minute, did you hear that? That... that sound? Boom... boom... boom! That didn't come from the troglodytes. No, that... That came from something else... The Demogorgon!" 

"We're in deep shit." Dustin summarizes, pretty astutely.

There's an urgency in their next moves, and Will goes against his nature, his character's nature and tosses out a fireball when his every instinct said protect.

The dice go flying. 

Mrs Wheeler comes in. 

The risk doesn't pay off. 

"You boys want a ride home?" Mrs Wheeler asks, knowing they'll refuse. She asks Will again after everyone else is gone but he assures her that he's fine.

She wants to prod, knows his house is the last one, knows he's the one who travels the last part alone but he smiles disarmingly.

Nothing ever happens in Hawkins.

* * *

The Beast waits, watches, watches and waits. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Benny doesn't know what to make of these kids. Joyce reflects. 011 and 007 get separated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of dialogue straight from the episode. Don't own that. I wish I did though. Here's actual plot? Which is wild.

He doesn't know how long they've been walking, only that it has to have been a while because it's lighter outside now than when they left the lab. He has to pinch himself to believe that.

The Lab. Papa's back there. Does he know? What will he do to them if - _when_ \- he finds them? He thinks of white walls, an _endless ocean_ of white and shudders.

It gives him a sudden boost, makes him forget his heavy limbs and _move._ Papa could find them. Papa could _hurt_ them. 011 looks up at his sudden motion and he stares back.

" _Faster_."

011 nods. 

Eventually, they come to a clearing and find a man throwing something into a trash can. 

He doesn't see them. 

The smell of grease and something unidentifiable hits 007's nose and makes his stomach growl. It smells like the food they were never allowed to eat, that the Scientists would enjoy while they ate their rations and gruel. He takes an unconscious step forward.

Small fingers wrap themselves around his wrist and tug. She tilts her head questioningly. He lifts an invisible spoon to his mouth and mimes swallowing.

"Eat?" 

She nods. 

* * *

Benny's getting ready for the lunch rush, prepping the special and talking to Earl. He doesn't really like Earl, too much of a loud mouthed gossip, and always drinking. He tips well though, so he's not too bad.

They talk sports, Earl bemoaning the loss of English when he sees something in the corner of his eye.

Thieving kids, two boys by the looks of it. Not on his watch. 

He gives chase, catches the younger one and shakes him - gets a closer look, mighty fine-boned for a boy.

The other boy, skinny as Hell, but definitely a boy shoves the other one behind him and stares Benny down, his jaw clenched and his fists raised. Despite all this, Benny can see the fear and uncertainty in his eyes and takes a closer look. 

Now, Benny's not up on the latest fashions, but he can't imagine any self-respecting teen to wear a hospital gown, or go walking round with no shoes on. Or have haircuts that short - specially on a girl. He knows times are changing but he hasn't seen any of the high schoolers that come in dressed like that so he can only assume.

"Okay, kid, why don't we all just take a step back?"

* * *

He feeds them and clothes them in staff uniforms, takes in how goddamn skinny they are, the clothes falling off them even though they're his smallest sizes.

They dive into their burgers like they've never seen food before, with half disappearing before he even sets their drinks down.

"Your parents forget to feed you?" Benny prods, voice gentle and open. Doesn't want to spook them.

No answer, they continue to eat.

"That why you run away?"

Nothing, the older one slurps at his soda. 

"They... hurt you?" The two share a look. 

He waits, but nothing. 

"And you went to the hospital, that's it? But you got scared ran off, found your way here?" The younger one looks at him, makes a little noise but says nothing.

Benny pulls their plates away - _that_ gets their attention. He incentivizes them. 

Quid pro quo.

He tells them his name, shows them what a handshake is - apparently no home training with 'em _too._

He doesn't know what to make of that. 

They have matching tattoos at the bend of their elbows. Numbers. 

"Double-oh-seven, huh? Your name James Bond or something?"

 _That_ gets a reaction. A bad one. The kid flinches with his entire being, knocking his soda to the floor, eyes _wide,_ arms trembling. The _NO_ that passes his lips is low and guttural, breaking on the last letter.

Benny freezes.

The girl stands up, hackles raised. 

Well then. 

He should probably call social services. 

* * *

_Make yourself at home, James Bond. You're gonna be in here for a while._

_A closed door._

_An endless stretch of white._

* * *

"All I know is - they're scared to death... confused... I think they've been abused or kidnapped or something. It’s 4819 Randolph Lane. Randolph right. R-A-N..." 

* * *

Joyce is in a state when Hopper comes by with Will's bike. Lonnie got it for him, back when things were unraveling, still holding together but coming apart fast. 

Hopper's making accusations, nasty ones, but she's too tired to dispute them. She knows she's not a perfect mom, but she _tries,_ okay? She puts the work in. Works graveyard shifts, puts in long hours, tries so goddamn hard because she has to.

She has to. 

She tried with Lonnie, tried to make it work for _Will,_ but it hurt him more than it helped him so she cut Lonnie off, tossed him aside.

Everything she's done, she's done for Will.

What does Hopper know? Nothing. They rarely speak. 

He's nobody. 

It still hurts, but it's nothing she hasn't heard before. 

She gets some supplies and starts making posters. 

Outside, Hopper calls for a search party.

* * *

Eleven - Benny's not comfortable calling the kid a number, but it's what she told him, and he's not trying to spook them again - is sitting on his counter, eating a pint of ice cream (another thing it seems she's never eaten) and she's smiling. 

It changes her whole face, makes her look sweet. 

He tells her so. 

She and her brother have apparently never heard of a _smile_ before either. 

Another thing for social services to look into. 

The boy tenses up abrubtly, shoulders raising and looking to the windows. 

"Papa." He whispers and goes to grab Eleven off the counter. 

That - that _won't_ do. 

Whoever put the fear of God into these kids needs to see the inside of a prison. 

There's a knock on the front door. 

Eleven jumps down.

They look ready to run. 

"Just... stay put. Whoever it is, I'll turn 'em away, a'ight?" 

He walks to the door. 

* * *

007 knows that smell. He recognizes it after years of Guess Who. 

'Just a little game.' The Scientists called it. They'd slip a blindfold on him and have him try to guess who it was. 

It was harder with the scientists, but not _him._ 007 always knew who _he_ was. 

Expensive cologne and hair gel. 

_Papa._

It's an overwhelming scent, one that almost blinds him to the others that come with it - the deadlier ones. 

There's a lot of people with Papa. People with guns. 

One of them is at the door. 

_Benny._

He's _nice._ Not the scientists - Good. He doesn't deserve to die. 

" _Stay. Close your eyes._ " He tells 011, setting her behind the counter. He moves her hands over her ears. "Shh."

He runs. 

The woman has her gun trained on Benny. 

007 catches her eye. 

She must be new because she lets him. 

He tilts his head and _connects._

He raises two fingers to his temple and points his thumb down. 

" _You_." he says, voice hard. 

Her gun swings around, aims at her head. She pulls the trigger. 

007 looks away. 

He turns to Benny. He doesn't have the words to say 'you never saw us' or 'we were never here' but he tries to convey the meaning with a simple _no._

Hopes it's enough. He runs. 

011 is gone. 

Escaped. 

Good. 

He runs. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I make Jonathan 007 specifically to make a James bond reference? Yes,yes I did. Bonus Phineas and Ferb reference because I'm a giant geek. Yes 007 is Jonathan. No, you shouldn't be shocked. Side note. I keep typing in Jonathan when I mean 007 because that's who he is, so if there's a Jonathan in there somewhere lemme know. I'm allergic to proofreading because then I'll convince myself it sucks and delete the whole thing so. That's why all the mistakes.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eleven learns what friends and promises are. Seven realizes the extent of his abilities. Joyce breaks down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am in a weirdly productive mood. Rewatching episodes and getting ideas and then transferring those ideas over here. Someone stop me.
> 
> The reason Jonathan and Eleven use 011 and 007 when they think of each other is because that's how they see the number and hhey don't know that there's a spelling for it. I don't know if that makes sense but it's what I'm doing.

She's trying to find photos of Will, to put on the posters. There aren't a lot. She doesn't take many - there's never time. A lot of them are older, from when he was a little kid, when he was a little baby and she couldn't believe he'd made it home. She remembers crying when they'd brought him inside, heart bursting and breaking all at once.

He would have been a big brother. 

He would have been four. 

He would have started school. 

He would have started high school. 

So many would have's. 

She flips through the album one more time, and a photo dislodges from it, fluttering to the floor. She reaches down and picks it up, turns it over. It's an ultrasound, old and yellowing, dog-eared and torn at the edges.

She must have missed this one in her destruction the first time. 

(She was a real mess after the hospital. She doesn't really remember those next few days. A lot of crying. A lot of destruction.)

It's probably the last photo she has of her first born. 

She runs her finger across the glossy surface and straightens out the edges. There's a lump in her throat, but she swallows it down.

She finds a photo eventually. 

The phone rings. 

* * *

She doesn't see where 007 went. She doesn't even know if he's alive. She heard the bang and she ran. 007's okay. He's not dumb. 

He _has_ to be okay.

She's wet now. It's raining. She looks up.

Up ahead, there's a light. 

She runs towards it. Three boys stare at her, shocked. 

* * *

Dustin can feel a headache coming on. These past few days have been crazy. 

Loco. 

And now there's the girl. 

She tried to take her clothes off _in front of them._ Didn't even blink. No hesitation. Just lifted her arms up. 

Mike's gonna let her _stay_ at his _house._ Maybe losing Will has all their brains scrambled. Maybe they're all a little delusional. 

Maybe they just need a good night's sleep. 

A good night's sleep that she's going to have at _Mike's house._

She tried to take her clothes off _in front of them_. 

He might be going crazy. 

* * *

When Hopper comes to her the next morning, she's a mess. A completely unhinged mess. 

She's been alone with her thoughts for six hours. Her father, he always used to say she had an overactive imagination, _t_ _hat_ overactive imagination had run wild and given rise to so many wild thoughts. So many worst case scenarios. 

Too many what-ifs.

Too many unknowns. 

She blows up at him when he asks if the storm damaged her phone. No, of course it wasn't the _storm._ If he thinks it's the storm, he's an idiot. 

A storm wouldn't do that. 

A storm _couldn't_ do that. 

He tells her it's a prank call. A case this public, brings out the crazies. 

He doesn't believe her. 

The thin thread holding her patience together snaps. 

"Come on, how about a little trust here?!" She asks, volleying his words from earlier back at him. "You think I'm making this up?" 

He tells her he does, but calls her emotional. 

_(Maybe you're just hearing what you want, seeing what you want Joyce. I swear, I'm done with her. I swear I haven't looked at her since you lost the baby_. 

Lonnie always had such a way with words.)

She snaps, takes all the rage she didn't have the energy to use on Lonnie out on Hopper. 

"You think I wouldn't know my own son's breathing?! Wouldn't you know your own daughter's?" The words taste like ash coming out of her mouth and she regrets it instantly. 

He doesn't say anything for a long time. The apology she wants to say gets stuck between her throat and her tongue. 

He says it's been too long, says he's gonna check Lonnie out himself. 

She knows it's bullshit. 

She feels too numb to stop him. 

* * *

Mike calls her L. She likes it. He is nice. He is good. She doesn't want him to get hurt. 007 isn't here to stop the Bad Men this time. Mike could get hurt. She must keep him safe. 

She must get him to _understand._

He shows her a La-Z-Boy. It's _fun._

He promised to come back and he did. He didn't break it. 

He tells her they're friends. 

Friends protect. 

He shows her the picture of the boy. He is Mike's _friend_ too. 

Friends protect. 

But how? When Will is in danger? 

How? 

* * *

Joyce goes to Melvald's in a haze. It's similar to that first day after she lost her baby. She feels untethered, not all the way there. Her body's here, but her mind is in the past, remembering.

She remembers being hungover, walking bleary-eyed to clock in, remember's Melvald's surprise. His voice, telling her he thought she'd take the day, the same faux-sincerity in it then as there is now. Except now she's actually going to take the day. 

She remembers the blinding rage she'd felt when he'd asked if she still wanted the maternity because he could move some people around, really it was no issue, but being too tired, too hollowed out to actually do anything about it then. 

She'd needed Melvald and her crappy job back then 

Still does. 

But this time, her son isn't dead, gone forever, he's _missing_ and that means he can still come home, that she can still hold him in her arms when she finds him, so she'll take the day, the week, the goddamn year if she wants because her son is _alive_ and probably _scared_ and she'll do anything to make sure she sees him again.

She gets the advance and the camels and heads home.

* * *

Hopper works with a bunch of morons. He doesn't even have to search hard to find proof. They're standing on a cliff's edge, debating whether they'd make a 30 foot jump into icy water. 

They've sited town drunk George Burness as proof. Hopper knows Burness. They went to high school together, dude was a dumbass before he killed his last brain cells with tequila. He _would_ be the kind of guy who'd take a fool dive off a cliff for 10 bucks.

He'd die instantly, but he'd do it.

They get a call.

When it rains, it pours. 

* * *

He won't admit it, especially to Callahan, but these cases, back to back do make him feel like he's back in the City. Not in a good way, but not in a bad way either. It's something he's used to. Something he can do to keep busy, mindless work

He doesn't know what to make of this case though. A lot of what Benny's saying isn't making a whole lot of sense. He doesn't think Benny's lying, knows him too well for that, but at the same time, he doesn't think Benny's telling the whole truth either. 

"You're saying Blondie over here came in here in the dead of night and just shot herself in the head? That's what's going on the record?" 

Benny runs a hand over his head and squeezes the nape of his neck. 

"I know how it sounds, Hop, believe me, but that's what happened." 

"Why don't you run us through your day, huh? From the morning. Maybe down at the station?" Callahan suggests and Benny sighs but agrees.

* * *

Benny honestly can't remember much about last night. It's weird because he knows that he didn't drink, not much reason to do that these days, but there's a gaping hole where his memory should be, like someone just dug a chunk of it out and left the rest. He remembers the woman, remembers opening the door for her and he remembers her aiming it at her head but he can't for the life of him remember the series of events that led to it.

He gives Hopper a rundown of his day, as honest as he can make it. 

"What about them two boys?" Earl asks, appearing next to him almost as if in a dream. 

Benny doesn't know why he's here but he's grateful for the reprieve. Maybe now he can get his thoughts in order.

"Them two boys who tried to snake food out ya kitchen? Why ain't ya mentioned hide of 'em?" 

Those two boys had completely slipped his mind, which is weird because someone trying to steal from him is a memorable occasion in Benny's book. It's not exactly a common occurrence.

"I fed em and sent them on their way. Scared em straight while I was at it." He says, because that's what he feels like he would have done. He's a softie, even though he doesn't look it.

Earl chuckles. "Sounds about right."

"These two boys, what did they look like?" Hopper's interest is now piqued and he gestures behind him and Callahan hands him a poster with Will Byers face on it.

In the chaos of the morning, Benny had almost forgotten that a boy was missing. 

"Nah, that's Lonnie's missing kid. This was a different 'un. Hair buzzed almost to the scalp." Earl says, gesturing to his own head.

Hearing Earl refer to him as Lonnie's kid leaves Benny with a sour taste in his mouth. That boy is more than Lonnie's kid, doesn't deserve for that shadow to be cast on him from such a young age.

"Never mind the buzzcut, ignore that, if he still had all his hair, could it have been Will?"

"I mean, I guess? Right height and all, but the older one? If Lonnie'd a'been a skinny twig in high school, he'd be that 'un through and through."

* * *

007 doesn't know how long it's been since he separated from 011. He does know though, that it's dark again, and he's getting cold, the flimsy material of his borrowed t-shirt not doing any favours against the biting chill of a fast approaching winter.

It doesn't help that his heightened senses mean he feels things more intensely than normal people would. 

It was a favourite pastime of the Scientists, testing this out. They'd put lit cigarettes against his skin and watch him squirm and then apply flash frozen ice to the areas just to see what he'd do. They'd laugh raucously and show no pity or remorse. They wore dark sunglasses with mirrored lenses around him because they feared retribution, but otherwise, they did not fear _him._

He knows that they're going to come for him, but now that he knows freedom, he won't go easy. He'll find 011 and get them both far far away, as far as he can get them and then... and then... and then, we'll he doesn't know but he'll figure it out.

He doesn't have very long to ponder on it before he's ripped from his thoughts by a loud scream nearby. It's instinctive to run towards it, he's running before he's even consciously aware of doing so, following the sound to its source. 

It's kids, kids like him, goofing off around a pool. 

He marvels at that. 

They're not scared. 

There's no Papa here. 

He won't submerge them in the water just to see how well their senses work underwater. He won't cut off one of their senses randomly in the middle just to see their reactions. He won't because he _can't_ because he's not there.

They're free and for a second, 007 is mildly jealous, but he tamps it down to watch them. To understand.

Freedom. 

It's intriguing. 

He gets lost in their happiness, in their easy ways and allows himself a moment to imagine himself amongst them. 

When they go inside, he makes to leave but a feeling of dread stays his impulse. He waits. 

He listens. 

A low growl, inhuman. 

A growl he'd heard in the lab but could never find the source of. 

It's unsettlingly familiar. 

One of them comes back outside. She looks sad.

She sits down and lets her feet sway in the water. 

A drop of blood falls into the water, calling out to the beast. 

The growl gets louder. 

Like a well-honed reflex, 007's mind connects to the beast's. It's harder than it should be, hard like it was when he was still learning. 

A headache blooms in the centre of his forehead. He tilts his head and _commands._

_No._

The girl screams. 

The lights flicker. 

The beast disappears.

And 007 passes out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm probably not portraying a healthy depiction of a mother recovering from having a stillborn child and for that, I am so deeply sorry. If it's triggering or offensive, that's very much on me and I hope I'm doing an okay job. I've never gone through something like that and I wouldn't even know how to begin to write something like it and if I'm being wildly insensitive, please call me out on it. We can all do with a little concrit in our lives. I'm trying to be sensitive to the topic but I don't know if I'm being crass or what. Women who:ve been through this are stronger than I'll ever know.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I did end the last two chapters by erasing the central deaths of the series. No, it was not planned. I use the r-slur in this chapter and I'm sorry. I probably shouldn't have and it's distasteful and rude and ableist and disgusting but it was also the 80s which isn't even an excuse because here in 2020 we know better. I did use it and I hated myself for it but it's in there so, tread lightly.

"You think he's dead?"

"Nope, see? His chest's moving."

"Who do you think he is?"

"Dunno. Never seen him before."

"You don't think that's weird? _Everyone_ knows each other here."

"Shut it, I think he's waking up."

007 opens his eyes and takes a look around. The kids from the party hover above his head, features tense.

He groans as his headache announces its presence loudly and with much fanfare. His stomach churns and he sits up abrubtly, butting the closest teen in the head.

His vision dances and bile burns at his throat but nothing comes up. 

Someone curses above his head as he blinks the spots from his vision. 

"Who the fuck are you?" the teen he hit asks, clutching at his nose. 

007 says nothing. 

"You retarded or something?" the boy asks, twisting the front of 007's shirt in his hand. 

007 dislodges it easily and shoves the boy's hand away.

He doesn't know that word, but he guesses it's bad. 

"Tommy!" A new voice, a softer voice, proclaims angrily. 

"What? Not like he'll know what it means."

"Doesn't mean you should say it."

A girl with glasses leans close to him, smiling gently. He shifts backwards, an unconscious move. Her hands come up to the sides of her face. He stills. 

"I'm Barb. You - uh - you saved my life." 

007 doesn't remember that. He tries to cast his mind back but doesn't get far before his head starts throbbing again. 

Behind them, unseen by either, Tommy twirls his finger around his temple and Carol snorts. 

007 shivers when a breeze passes over them.

"Maybe we should move this inside." Nancy suggests lightly, moving to help the boy up, telegraphing her movements so he can stop her any time. 

He doesn't. 

She helps him up and, together with Barb, leads him inside the house, Tommy bug-eyed the whole way. 

"We're just gonna let the pervert in?" He comments walking faster so he's side-by-side with Steve. "He was watching us, like a total fucking creeper, and you're letting him in your house?!" 

"He saved my life!" Barb interjects, spinning around to glare at Tommy. 

"So you _say._ From _what_ was it again? A _faceless monster?"_

"I know what I saw." Barb mutters darkly, fingers tightening on the boy's arm. He flinches and pulls away. 

"Maybe you're just high! Maybe you smoked up before you came here and saw some weird shit while you were jonesed."

"Shut up, Tommy." It's Nancy this time, not even bothering to look at him. 

"You're really gonna let your flavour of the week talk to me like that, Harrington? She must have been _really_ good." 

"Fuck off, Tommy!" Nancy says, coming to her own defence before Steve can say anything. "You can leave if this is bothering you _that much."_

"I want to hear what this little prick has to say for himself? I wanna know what his deal is, lurking around like a fucking creeper!"

"He. Saved. My. Life." 

"You. Are. Delusional." 

It's at this moment that 007 looks up, twists his head and catches Tommy's eye. 

"Shut up." He intonates, light and easy.

Tommy makes to speak, but his teeth click together and no sound comes out. 

There's a hitch in Nancy's step as she trips on air and her fingers go slack around his arm. 007 uses the moment to back away and take off. 

When they recover from the shock enough to think about giving chase, he's gone, disappearing into the woods. 

Tommy still can't speak. 

Barb chuckles when she realizes this. 

* * *

There is something in the wall. Joyce knows this, she's _seen_ it. 

Seeing and believing, apparently are not the same thing. She just knows that last night, something _came out of the wall_ and she's still processing that. She might also be losing her mind. That is very much still a real possibility. 

Maybe she just needs a break. 

Or maybe she needs a plan. 

* * *

Hopper knows something fishy is going on, feels it in his gut. The question remains on how he's going to prove it. 

Somehow, some way, Hawkins Lab has something to do with all of this. He just needs evidence. 

The only way to do that is to wade into deep waters. 

Into the valley of death they go. 

* * *

Okay, so maybe not the valley of death. Security was too easy, a basic sob story and he's through. He's not complaining, but damn. 

A little paranoia is good for the soul. 

The tunnel is smaller on this side, a little leaner, and if Earl's words are to be trusted, there were two kids that night, one a teenager at that, and he has to wonder how skinny they'd have to be to fit in there. 

"Tight squeeze." He remarks off-handedly, looking back at their chaperone. 

"What'd I tell ya? No way some kid's getting through here. Even if they did, our cameras would have caught it." 

He gestures and Hopper takes note of just how many there are. That coupled with the heavy military presence that greets them when they're inside adds up to something being not quite right. 

He revises his previous statement about security and wonders what they're trying to keep _in._

* * *

It was raining the day after Will Byers went missing. It was raining when they sent out the search party. There's no rain on that tape. 

* * *

Karen is worried about Joyce. She knows her friend, has seen firsthand how Joyce copes - she _doesn't._

She remembers how Joyce had handled the loss of her first child, remembers the 1000-yard stare, the uneaten breakfasts, the hours of one-sided conversations. 

So she whips up a casserole and pays her friend a visit. Christmas lights are strung all over the place but Karen makes no mention of it yet. She sets Holly down on the counter and makes herself comfortable in the kitchen. Gathers things for coffee, notes the sad state of the fridge, the pantry, tactfully says nothing. 

"How you holding up?" Karen queries, rinsing out some mugs. 

Joyce snorts, a bitter, broken sound and Karen winces.

"Dumb question." 

"Kinda."

She eases into the Christmas lights question and Joyce gives her a perfunctory response.

She's _lying._ Karen knows she's lying, but can't figure out _why._ She's not going to go too into it, because the sad truth of the matter is, she's not good enough friends anymore with Joyce to ask that.

You wouldn't guess it by looking at them now, or even _then_ if she thinks back on it, but there was a time when the two of them had been thick as thieves. Karen, a preppy cheerleader and Joyce, the pint-sized biker chick, the two of them against the world.

Joyce had been fearless, a spitfire that had come to school amidst rumours of her supposed promiscuity wearing a dress that pushed the envelope of the school's dress code to its legal extreme and planted a kiss on the boy who'd been the most vocal about its' lips, in the _middle_ of a pep rally.

Then Joyce had started dating Lonnie and Karen started applying to colleges and their friendship hadn't been as solid as she'd thought because they drifted apart. 

There was a time when they'd been close again, when they'd been like they were in high school, back when they were pregnant together, back when Karen had been ostracized for the first time in her life, and it had been good. 

Then Joyce lost the baby and Karen wasn't strong enough to stay. 

She knows, shoe on the other foot, that Joyce would have fought tooth and nail for their friendship, but Karen has always been weak to the the rumour mill's grindstone.

Karen hopes she's stronger now, wants to be in Joyce's life - make up for lost time. 

She's gonna try.

* * *

"I keep thinking about Jonathan." Joyce says when the coffee's done and the casserole's in the oven. 

"Jonathan?" Karen asks, certain that Joyce misspoke. 

"Yeah, it's stupid, I know."

"Who's Jonathan?" 

"Oh. Right, I guess I never told you? If he'd lived, I would have named him Jonathan." 

Oh. 

Karen remembers a lot about those few days, like how Joyce completely fell apart, and the dark place she sunk into, how she just didn't want to do anything, definitely didn't want to plan a _funeral._ Karen had taken it onto herself to plan it, making arrangements, getting a priest, catering and everything she could think of to lighten Joyce's load.

She knows that she barely saw Lonnie in those few days, didn't question it, figured he was grieving in his own way, tried to be the support system he was failing to be. 

She remembers being drained and pulling away, because selfishly, she didn't want to be a rock like that again. She just wanted to be a new mom, and be happy and carefree, and only worry about the light stuff. 

She doesn't remember if she ever asked what his name would have been. She just found solace in the compliments paid towards the decor and the food and didn't ask anything _real,_ anything _substantial,_ anything that would have held water.

She regrets that now.

"It's not stupid. Of course you'd be thinking about him right now." She says after a beat too long, reaching across the table to give Joyce's hand a squeeze. 

"He'd have been 16."

Karen's heart constricts at that - she can't even imagine.

Nancy's age. 

If she'd lost Nancy, she doesn't even know what she'd do. 

They talk for a while and then Holly disappears for a _second_ and then Joyce flips out; sends her on her way. 

Something is _definitely_ not okay. 

* * *

011 knows that Mike is Good. She knows this, but she still wonders. It's three-one-five and Mike isn't back yet. Papa would do that sometimes, say he'd come get her in an hour and just... Not. 

Mike isn't Papa. ( _He came back.)_

But she doesn't know Mike. She strains her senses and tries to find 007, a skill they'd learned away from the Scientists' eyes as a form of protection. He was better at it than she was, needed to use it more.

She closes her eyes and _reaches,_ gets a tentative hold.

_007?_

_011?_

_Safe?_

That's as far as she gets before the connection breaks with Mike's arrival.

She needs to find Will. 

* * *

The Lab is hinky. Hopper called it. Yeah, Powell is skeptical and Hopper can see why. It's a lot to take in, a lot to consider.

Hopper's gut is screaming though. 

His gut is usually right. 

(Even when he wishes it wouldn't be.)

Their pow-wow is interrupted by the crackle of Powell's walkie. 

They've found a body. 

* * *

Tommy can't believe he's actually doing this. He can't believe he's actually looking for the perverted little shit that crashed their party. But Steve is so far up Nancy's ass that all she had to do to get him to do what she wanted was _look_ at him.

What an absolute disgrace.

Carol knows that she can't get Tommy to do anything, not even for head, and Steve is too much of an idiot to realize that that's how it _works._

He looks like _that_ but he does _not_ have the brains to match.

Use 'em and lose 'em. If they're good at scratching your itch, use 'em longer. Don't get fucking attached.

He's an absolute chump. 

He's also Tommy's best friend, the absolute turd.

That's the only reason he's doing this. 

Steve might decide that Wheeler is more important and cut Tommy off and there's _no way_ he's going to become one of those nobodies that hang around the 7-11 and try to get college kids to buy them beer. 

Being Steve Harrington's friend has its perks, so he'll trudge through this dumb fuck forest and look around for the weirdo. 

Whatever. 

Kid better hope Tommy's _not_ the one to find him though or he might not live to see his 12th birthday.

Another reason to find the kid is to get him to lift this dumb No Talking thing off him. He hasn't been able to say a word since the kid told him he couldn't. 

Which, what the fuck? That's weird. 

That Ruby or Spike or whatever her name is might have been high as a kite, talking about the kid _saving her life_ but he's definitely a Freak.

In his peripheral, he sees something moving, something fast, but he dismisses it as a deer. Nothing important. 

This is ridiculous. 

He stumbles over an overgrown tree root, and goes flying, skinning his knee pretty badly. 

If he could've, he would have cursed out loud. 

That Freak is so dead when Tommy gets his hands on him.

These are his favourite jeans for fuck's sake. 

The sound of dry leaves and twigs snapping. A low growl. 

The compulsion breaks as Tommy lets out an inhuman scream. 

The beast feeds. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I very much hate this chapter. I do not want to look at it. So much cursing. I apologize for anything in Tommy's POV. I obviously do not condone a single thing he says. Should this be rated explicit or mature? Sound off in the comments.
> 
> Please comment. I have no idea if this is good or what. 
> 
> Let me know if I should Immediately Stop Writing or Go On, It's Okay, I Guess.
> 
> I absolutely will not be back reading this chapter. I viscerally hate it so much.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Barb's in crisis and Nancy's solid. Steve's regretting everything. Will is not dead.

Even as a big city cop, Jim's never been in this type is situation before, where he'd had to tell a mother that their child was dead. He:d been on the _other side_ of that conversation and he'd been expecting a lot of things.

He'd even expected denial, but not to this extreme. She's saying she _talked_ to him, which fine, okay, yeah, he gets _that,_ he's _been there,_ but to say Will's speaking to her through the _lights?_

He tries to relate to her situation, talks about Sarah, but she insists it's not the same, and he guesses she would know.

He at least had _time_ with Sarah, he can't imagine never having known her at all.

She says it's not grief and he believes that, he _does,_ but if it's not grief that's making her believe this, then what is it?

* * *

Barb knows that what she's saying about the night of the party doesn't make a lot of sense. She _knows_ that, she does, but she knows what she saw. Despite what Tommy says, she hadn't been high, hadn't even been _drunk_ when that _thing_ had come out of the water and tried to drag her down with it.

She also knows she didn't imagine that boy. They all saw _him._ He'd saved her life. He, she doesn't know what he did exactly, but she knows she's thankful. Knows without a doubt that she'd be dead if it hadn't been for him.

Nancy suggests she skip school, says she had a long night, but Barb knows what that means.

Nancy might not be able to deny the boy, but the monster?

She'd been too busy screwing Steve Harrington for that part.

Okay, that's a little harsh and she recognizes that. It's just, of all the guys in the whole school that Nancy could have picked, she goes for the self-proclaimed King of Hawkins High, Steve Harrington? 

His entire entourage had made Barb's middle school life unbearable. They were bullies, loud-mouthed and obnoxious, stealing her lunch and making little remarks about her waistline. 

_You'd think she'd get full eventually, wouldn't you?_

They'd scribble little notes and stick them in her locker, call her wholly unoriginal names like Barn Whole Land and other idiotic things like that.

Steve had never participated, but he'd never tried to stop it either, so she's not going to make it easy on him, not going to trust him with her best friend's heart, even if she's not sure she can really call Nancy her best friend anymore.

She just, she's known Nancy her whole life, not a huge feat with the size of their town, and it hurts that Nancy finally realizes that she's better than Barb, prettier, skinnier, all the things Barb's wanted to be, but could never hope to be, rolled up into this amazing person, and maybe it's selfish to want to keep Nancy to herself, but she knows that Nancy's the sun and Barb's the planet doomed to orbit her.

She doesn't want to lose her best friend, and she especially doesn't want to lose her friend to the likes of Steve Harrington.

But that's all superficial now, all of it, after what she saw.

Nancy might not believe her, so Barb's just going to have to find proof. 

Even if it kills her. 

* * *

Karen accompanies Joyce to the morgue because she understands that it's not something anyone should have to do alone. She can only imagine how this has to feel. She can only guess as to what's going on in Joyce's head right now, the pain she must be feeling.

It can't be easy, can't seem fair - isn't fair. She's going to have to identify the body, going to to have to look at her son and realize she's never going to see him grow up, get a car, maybe a girlfriend, graduate high school - _go_ to high school. They lift the cloth off of him and, oh, oh... Oh God, he looks so _small._ So _young._ She doesn't mean to, doesn't want to, but she pictures Mike on that slab, Mike staring lifelessly upwards for the rest of eternity and her stomach churns and she has to leave. She just, she needs air.

It's so selfish, to just up and leave when her sole purpose in coming here was to provide comfort and a solid presence.

She just didn't think it would be so _hard._

She sinks into one of the chairs outside and buries her face in her hands, digging the heels of her palms into her eyes to stem the flow of tears threatening to fall. 

This is _not_ about her.

She sees Hopper in the corner of her eye, looking at her and she straightens, arches a brow at him, shakes it off.

"Hey, Hop." 

She remembers a different time, a different Karen who would never even deign to speak to Hopper and shrinks a little. 

"Hey."

"Tough case, huh?" 

"Yeah. Tougher on Joyce."

"Yeah. I wouldn't be able to handle it if I was in her shoes." Karen admits, staring at her nails. Her life hasn't had too many downsides, she knows this. She's always been pretty and popular. She won the title of Little Miss Hawkins when she was seven and it had been smooth sailing since then.

Yeah, her husband's a dud and her 'close friends' are all a bunch of bitchy, unsatisfied housewives with more money than class, but she never has to worry about bills, or putting food on the table, never had to go without so her kids could go _with._ She has three beautiful kids whom she loves, three kids who are driven, smart and loving, compassionate and kind and that's all she can ask of them.

She knows where they are, knows they're safe, alive.

She doesn't think she could bare it if they were suddenly _gone._

 _"_ She's resilient." Hopper proclaims and Karen has to agree.

Resilient - That's Joyce for you.

Karen would give anything for just a little of that fire, a little of that spark.

"Yeah." 

Joyce comes out then, screaming about how that _thing_ isn't her son, storming our of the morgue and Karen has little choice but to gather her things and rush out after her friend.

Joyce is resilient and determined but she needs a friend right now and Karen's going to be whatever Joyce needs.

* * *

Initially, Steve just wanted to have fun with Nancy. He's an irrepressible flirt and there's something about her. She looks and acts like she's this soft and delicate little thing but Steve knows that that's not all there is to her.

Steve wants to _know_ Nancy Wheeler. He wants to know her in _more_ than the biblical sense. He wants to know who she is under all that perfection.

Tommy had said that nice girls were made to be ruined and it's one of those things that he and Tommy don't really see eye to eye on, one of those things that makes Steve question their whole friendship, but isn't ready to probe at because he's not a fan of change, but it's still there... _Hovering._

And it's not even like that. He genuinely likes Nancy. He likes who she makes him. She makes him better, makes his flaws glaringly obvious, makes him want to address those flaws and change them so that he can be the kind of guy she deserves, he likes that she challenges his idea of what a girl should be.

He doesn't however, like this whole situation. He doesn't even know what this situation _is._

He does know that no one's seen Tommy all day, not unusual and it wouldn't even phase Steve normally, he'd chalk it up to a hangover and call it a day, but not with what happened at the party and not with that _kid_ still out there.

They'd looked all night but found nothing, had to haul ass when the cops came, but Steve figured Tommy bailed long before that. He had to have right? He didn't care that much. 

Maybe he found out how to speak again and went home, got drunk and skipped school. 

Maybe he got drunk. 

He's Tommy. The only things he does are have sex and get pissed. 

He's totally fine. 

Totally fine. 

He allows himself the delusion until he's called out of class by the cops. 

It's then that Steve's perfectly constructed world starts falling apart around him. 

* * *

"I just think she's being an absolute buzzkill on top of being a hypocrite, you know?" Robin does know, at least a little about how Stacie's mom gets, but she does not want to engage in this conversation any more than she has to, so she settles for a noncommittal grunt and hopes Stacie takes the hint.

She doesn't. 

"I mean, she doesn't even _like_ Joyce Byers, but the way she's carrying on, you'd swear they were best friends. Personally, I think it's all just so she can keep track of all my comings and goings."

Robin chokes back a sigh and twists her fingers in the phone's cord, trying to telepathically let her friend know that she's done talking, but as usual, it doesn't work.

Stacie keeps on talking. 

"I mean, yeah, it's sad and all, but like what does some 12 year old kid have to do with _my_ freedom y'know? She's not even letting me do band anymore because then I might get home too late. Like, _I'm_ not the irresponsible 12 year old, right?" 

Robin wants to hang up. She just, she's too nice is the thing.

She hates Stacie, there's no two ways around that, but they're two of the only girls in band, which makes them allies by default, and Robin doesn't want to have to deal with their band mates alone, but she still just really _hates_ her. 

"So, Lloyd Weller's been asking about you again."

Oh - God. 

Not this again. 

"Ew." Robin says immediately. Because ew. 

It's not even the _guy_ thing. Or at least it's not _only_ the guy thing, at least with Lloyd Weller. He's determined to sleep with every girl in their grade and Robin very much does not want to have anything to do with that.

Most girls don't. 

"Yeah, okay fair, but like, it'll be worth your while." Stacie says in a way that suggests she knows from personal experience. 

Double ew. 

"No. Lloyd's not really my type."

"I've exhausted every flavour of guy at our school. I'm beginning to think you don't have a type at all, Buckley."

Oh, she has a _type._

It's at this moment that her dog, who'd been making her side nice and toasty, jumps up off the couch and takes off outside. 

"Cupid!"

"Cupid's your type?" Stacie asks, laughter in her tone. 

"No, it's my dog. I gotta go see where he went, talk later." She doesn't even wait for the reply before she's setting the phone back in its cradle and heading outside. 

She shivers as her bare feet make contact with the wet ground, but makes her way further outside when she still doesn't see her dog.

"Cupid?" She calls out softly, her voice echoing in the stillness of the night. 

"Cupid!" 

She finds him eventually, at the end of the driveway, next to some kid. She recognizes the yellow t-shirt as a Benny's uniform, but fails to recall the kid ever working there. She fails to recall him at all.

She watches as the kid, completely oblivious to her presence, kneels down next to her dog and puts a hand out.

"Shake." Cupid's paw shoots out and lands on top of the stranger's palm, easy as you please. 

Robin marvels at that because she knows her dog, knows he doesn't listen to most people, will simply roll over no matter what the command is, except if the command is to literally roll over, so this is uncharted territory.

She clears her throat and the boy looks up at her, terrified. He makes to bolt but must stand up too fast because the next thing she knows, he's falling over, unconscious. 

Well, shit. 

* * *

There's a fuzziness in 007's head that he's not fond of, it's affecting his senses badly and he doesn't know why. Ever since he saved that girl and told that guy to shut up, his head's been cloudy. He needs to rest, but he can't. He can't because he still doesn't know where 011 is, he doesn't know where Papa could be, there's a beast on the loose and there's no safe place.

He knows that 011 is alive at least, he'd tried to connect with her again, but it just made his head hurt more, so he had no choice but to leave it for when he could think straight.

He has no idea where he is anymore, just that the Lab is far behind him and 011 is gone. There are lights in the distance and he goes toward them, too tired to think about things like danger or bad people.

* * *

_They're watching. He can feel their eyes on him even though they're not in the room. It's just him and the dog. They start him off easily, with someone a few hallways down giving him commands to instruct the dog with._

_**Sit.** _

_**Stand.** _

_**Roll over.** _

_**Play dead.** _

_Simple stuff, uncomplicated._

_**Shake.** _

_**Speak**_. 

_His nose isn't even bleeding yet._

_The door opens and one of the Scientists comes in, looking a little baffled._

_007 shifts away from him. He's one of the Bad Ones. They're all bad, but he seems to enjoy his job a little too much. He tries his hardest to make 007 snap, break a rule, do something that would mean Punishment._

_He's the one who always says the words **White Room**_. 

_007 doesn't trust him, doesn't like that he's so close. He edges away, puts as much space as he can between him and the Scientist._

_In his ear, he hears a command._

_It's a new one, a harder one._

_He looks at the window, looks at Papa, who gives the smallest of nods._

_Papa **knows.** _

_**Attack.** _

_The dog doesn't hesitate, jumping on the Scientist and bowling him over, pinning him to the floor. The man screams as he tries to get the Doberman off of him, but no luck._

_"Okay, James Bond, you've had your fun. Get that thing off him." One of the other Scientists proclaims, this one's friend._

_"It's on Brenner's orders, Joe, let's see how it plays out." Another admonishes._

_007 looks back again._

_Papa is gone._

_He's about to call the dog back, say_ _**enough** when there's a new voice in his ear - Papa's voice, with one simple order._

_It makes 007's heart beat double-time but he knows the Punishment will be horrible if he disobeys._

_He doesn't want to, but he locks eyes with the dog and says the order._

**_Kill._ **

_He shuts his eyes, but then Papa's in his head again, this time his word's a warning._

**_Watch._ **

_He does._

_He doesn't sleep well that night._

_Doesn't sleep at all._

* * *

Not knowing what else to do, Robin carries the boy inside. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Robin! I had to include her because she was my favourite part of s3 and I needed her to be in all the seasons. This chapter is ass. It just did not spark any creativity. I've tweaked a few things in Canon to fit my narrative, but the main plot of the season has remained the same. This is my bazooka to that. Things are going to get hectic.
> 
> Drop the country you're reading this from, and then I'll tell you mine. I'm curious as to how far reaching my audience is. 
> 
> Not a lot of the boys in here but that's mainly because I haven't changed what happened with them much yet. Those scenes from the show are still the same. The whole gang's together in the next chapter whenever that might be. Hope this suffices.
> 
> Longer chapters mean more time between updates but they also mean longer chapters so, win some lose some?
> 
> Robin's here!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uhm. Don't hate me?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to darkhaze20 for commenting on and reading my unedited really rough stream of consciousness bull. You're a real one! The next chapter will have more to it, I promise but i just needed to end it here because I am as the kids say 'on my bullshit'. The next chapter will feature everybody and hopefully have plot and or length so.
> 
> *Edit, I corrected the aunt's name, apparently it is Darlene, not Denise. Why Denise? Beats the hell out me.  
> I also named a kid Tommy in here solely to justify the H in Tommy H, because why is there a Tommy H and no other Tommy's in the series?

She's had the same couch for 16 years. She remembers coming home from the hospital and sinking into this couch 16 years ago, drained and lifeless. It's the same couch.

They're sitting on the same places in the same positions like nothing's changed. 

Their son is gone.

 _Missing,_ her heart insists.

It's not the same thing - Will is just lost, missing, _in the_ _wall._ He's going to come back. He's going to be _fine._ It's not like Jonathan.

There's a body.

There's a body, but it's not Will. 

It can't be. 

She tells Lonnie this, tells him everything because he deserves to know, because despite everything they've been through, despite him _being_ _Lonnie,_ he's still Will's father and he should know. He should know that his son is still alive, still _out there._

He brushes that aside, tells her she sounds crazy. Brings up her aunt Darlene.

Why would he be so callous? Why wouldn't he care? Why wouldn't he want to believe that his son is still alive? 

Why wouldn't he want hope? 

* * *

Barb knows she's smart - the gets-straight-A's-is-on-the-honour-roll-brings-home-accolades type of smart. She's also now realizing that book smarts and street smarts don't necessarily correlate. She now realizes that she has no idea how to hunt down a monster. 

It's _not_ like there's books for this kind of thing!

She decides to wing it. Fly by the seat of her pants and hope for the best. If it works for Tommy Freedman, the kid who's never in class except to take tests and constantly gains top grades, it'll work for her. (She hopes.)

Steve Harrington showing up at her door throws her for a loop.

"Tommy's missing." He tells her, which doesn't really tell her much of anything because the list of people he could go to for help with this is incredibly long and she doesn't think she's anywhere on it.

He sighs deeply, with his whole body and leans against her doorframe, _slumps_ really, and he suddenly looks bone-tired. 

"Tommy's missing and the cops are convinced he's just on some bender and will be back on Monday, but you and I know that that's not true."

She raises a disbelieving eyebrow at him. He can't be serious.

"So you believe me now?" 

"Look, I don't know what to believe. I just know that Tommy's gone and the cops are useless, and you're the only one who I can go to with this."

"We're not friends, Harrington." She reminds him, making to move past him. He blocks her path with his arm and leans _way_ into her personal space.

"I _know,_ but you're the only one I could think of to go to with this. My friendships are all superficial.They wouldn't understand." He admits grudgingly.

She crosses her arms, unimpressed. 

"And that makes your relationship with Nancy what?" 

"That's _different."_ He sputters, and there's something genuine in it, but Barb chooses to ignore that for now. 

"It doesn't matter. I just, why me? Nancy was there too. You all saw the kid."

"Nancy's at a funeral."

A funeral? Oh, right. 

_Will's._

"Why aren't you there? Being the supportive boyfriend or whatever?" 

"My _best friend_ is missing. Besides, Mrs Byers doesn't need the entire town to gawk at her right now." 

That's actually _considerate_ of him. 

"So, where do you wanna start?" She says eventually, after too long a silence. 

"My house. Where it all began."

* * *

Karen feels helpless. She doesn't know what she's supposed to be doing right now. She doesn't know how to be of service. Her son lost his best friend and her best friend lost her son. She doesn't know how to split her attention and it devastates her. She'd say Joyce has Lonnie, but she knows that's bull. He's being as much help as he was at the last funeral - only slightly less drunk. 

Mike seems to have his friends, if their hushed tones are anything to go by and she doesn't really know what to say to them anyway. She can't imagine how her words would help. 

He was only _12._

Jonathan never even made it that many years. 

She looks to Joyce and notices how small she looks, how withdrawn. She was so _sure_ he was alive. So sure he was going to come back. She's standing a little ways away from Lonnie, almost folded in on herself, with a far off look on her face and Karen wonders if Lonnie's behind that. He doesn't look like someone bereaved, in mourning. He looks disconnected from the whole thing - not in the same way Joyce does, but like it's nothing to him. 

Maybe that's too harsh. Maybe his grief isn't as obvious as Joyce's and it's actually killing him inside. 

Joyce looks ready to buckle any second now and Karen's mind is made up. 

Joyce needs her. 

She dislodges herself from Ted and goes over to Joyce, arm snaking across her waist and squeezing gently. Joyce doesn't react except to sink into the hold. 

Karen stays at her side for the rest of the funeral. 

* * *

" _So, what's a guy got to do to get your attention, Reed? Burn the school down?" Lonnie Byers, bad boy extraordinaire asks her, one sunny Fall day, a few weeks after her 17th birthday._

_"Make it the gym and we'll talk." He laughs and pulls out a cigarette box. She bums one off him and they talk._

_He's not such a bad guy._

* * *

_They ditch school to make out at Sattler Quarry often, because what's school really gonna teach them? Hawkins has made up its mind about the Joyces and Lonnies of the world a long time ago._

* * *

_"He's bad news. Karen admonishes, brandishing a nail file accusatorily and Joyce guffaws loudly, tears springing to her eyes._

_" Haven't you heard? So am I."_

* * *

_"You're better than this. Than him." Her mother notes one day, but the words don't really hold weight when she's explaining how to conceal a bruise efficiently, entirely too knowledgeable on the subject._

_"Sure, mom." She agrees loftily, dabbing more concealer under her eye._

* * *

_It happens like this - he's 18 and in a bar. No one cards him because no one here cares. He's got the makings of a solid beard, it's good enough. A man comes up to him, offers him money to do some tests. Nothing elaborate, just ingest this drug and test the side effects. It's whatever._

_He agrees, because money._

_He's 19 and he's still getting drugs, and he doesn't mind it. The high is unmatched. These drugs are choice._

_He's getting paid to get fucked up._

_He's 20 and he's got Joyce on his arm, and she's Grade A. She looks good on his arm. Those other girls, they're good for his 20% but she's good for his ego._

_All the guys wanted Joyce in high school. He's the one that bagged her._

_He's 20 and he's flying high._

* * *

_He's 23 and Joyce is_ pregnant. _That wasn't the Plan. She wasn't supposed to get knocked up. This was just supposed to be a fun little fling and it got out of hand._

_It was supposed to be a One and Done._

_He can't be tied down._

_He's twenty-fucking-three and too damn young for this._

_She tells him she's pregnant and he smokes up, calls up Betty Winger and has a grand old time._

_Pregnant? Shit._

* * *

_It's a few months later and she's still pregnant, still going through with it, like that's not the dumbest thing she could do._

_She's a pariah._

_He's a chump._

_Less girls come, not wanting to be the woman who broke up a **family.**_ _It sucks when they have consciences._

* * *

_He's in a bar again and Joyce is gonna pop any day now. They had a baby shower and everything._

_He now knows the difference between baby blue and Robin's egg._

_He now knows about swaddling and burping and changing diapers because Joyce insisted and Lonnie knows not to argue with a pregnant woman. Besides, having the knowledge and doing something with that knowledge are two very different things._

_He orders a_ _tequila sunrise and reaches for his wallet when the bill is paid for him._

_The same old man from the drugs._

_"I hear your wife's expecting." He balks at the word wife, rushes to explain that they're not married, so focussed on correcting the man that he doesn't even stop to question why he'd known Joyce was expecting - how he'd known Joyce **at**_ _**all.**_

_"Your girlfriend then, my apologies."_

_Girlfriend isn't the right word either, not really but he lets it go._

_"Yeah. Gonna pop soon."_

_"You don't seem excited."_

_"Excited to have my life ruined? No."_

_The man smiles like he's told a funny joke._

_"Tell you what, let's make a deal. I unburden you of your child, you name the price."_

_Lonnie eyes the man up and down, shifts away._

_He's obviously got a few screws loose._

_He knocks back a few more drinks and when the man sees he's more susceptible to the offer, makes it again._

_Lonnie honestly sees no downsides - and again **money.**_

_He says yes._

* * *

_It happens like this._

_Jonathan Byers dies at Hawkins Memorial on a rainy Tuesday afternoon._

_Or at least that's the official word._

_007 is smuggled from the hospital an hour later, when a devestated Joyce is wailing in her friend's arms._

* * *

_Where's my son? Lonnie will ask later, pocket heavy with compensation, a smile on his lips._

_Dead, Joyce will reply and he'll feel guilt and horror, but he'll blot it out with expensive whiskey and try to get Joyce to do the same._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We did it Patrick, we saved the city!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's just say, I do love ending things with hangings off cliffs and I won't apologize. It's a doozy, this chapter.

A lot of things aren't adding up about this - the fake body, the state coroner, - 'C _onsidering this was Will Byers and not John F Kennedy_.' To think of Hawkins as embroiled in a conspiracy is a laughable concept. It's _Hawkins._ But here they are. And since Hawkins Lab seems to be at its epicentre, Hawkins Lab is where he goes.

At first glance it looks like a regular lab, just a boring, sterile place with no seedy underbelly. The security is still a joke. He bypasses the first entrance easily, doesn't even have to try. The guards intercept him at the elevators, but that's an easy fix - they're all doughy and out of shape - used to the soft types that work here, the nerdy ones that don't know how to throw a punch, so that's what he does.

A quick one-two and it's done. He has access to the rest or the place.

The further down he goes, the more uneasy he feels, the less it feels like a legitimate government sanctioned operation and more like some backdoor Area 51 type shit.

He makes it a few doors down when his flashlight catches on something; something out of place. 

A teddy bear on the floor. A button-eye clings desperately to the last remaining piece of thread holding it in place. He picks the bear up and marvels at the coarseness and feels a pang. Sarah used to have a teddy, a stuffed gorilla named Tank that never got a wash since she was always lugging it around, and it had begun to feel like this. Had a little kid lost this on a tour? Or maybe something more sinister? 

He hears footsteps, causing him to duck into a room and hold his breath, kill his flashlight. They recede in the distance and he turns it back on, looks around the room. It's nothing like he expected. There's a metal cot shoved against one wall and a picture taped up on an otherwise blank wall. It's a childish drawing of three stick figures. Above their heads, in block letters it describes them - Papa, 007, me.

He doesn't dwell on it long, goes through the door, only to find an adjoining room, equally as empty as the first. There's a drawing here too, but this one is secreted away, tucked between the mattress and the bed frame, but something is missing.

A section has been torn off - there's no Papa in this one.

He doesn't have time to think about what that means - has more pressing matters to attend to.

He finds that the deeper he goes into the Lab, the harder it becomes to breathe. He's coughing pretty badly when he sees it - the holy grail. Proof beyond doubt that something shady is going down here.

Aliens?

Or something worse? 

There's movement in his peripheral, a pinch at the side of his neck, and then darkness. 

* * *

Attending a funeral for their dead best friend is harder than they thought it would be. It's hard to sit here and pretend to be sad when all they want to do is get out there and look for Will. They _have_ to be here though because they have questions for Mr Clark. Questions that only he'll be able to answer, information only he'll know.

He delivers on it, and they're set. 

* * *

Nancy does not know what's going on with her friends right now. She has _no clue._ She and Barb, they've been pretty solid for 16 years. They've known each other for as long as they've breathed oxygen and have been friends forever, but lately, it feels like they've shifted focus, their goals have changed or something. It's not just the Steve thing - she doesn't think so.

Steve's not a distraction, or a fixation, or something she needs to _get out of her system._ He makes her feel things, new things, different things. It's not rebellion, or her trying something drastically different. He's a good guy, she can tell. Under all that bravado, and fake machismo, there's a great guy in Steve Harrington. Barb doesn't know that guy yet. Maybe when things settle down with all this Will stuff, the three of them can hang out and get to know each other better..

She doesn't want to lose Barb over some guy, but she doesn't want to miss out on Steve Harrington either.

After the funeral, she rings Barb's house, hoping to hang with her friend and gets the most curious of messages from her mom. 

"Oh, Barb's out with a boy - a very cute boy. She didn't say when she'll be back." 

Odd. 

No one answers at Steve's. 

Well, she'll just have to go down there herself, won't she? 

* * *

He wakes up in his trailer, one hand clutching a beer bottle and the other around a remote. It's a familiar position for him, but he doesn't remember how he got into it, which is also not unfamiliar. 

He gets up and looks around, can't shake the feeling that something is off. The mountain of beer cans scattered across the floor, the detritus strewn about. It's a little too precise. 

A little too messy, too disturbed. 

It comes back to him in fragments. 

He was in the lab.

The teddy bear. 

The drawings. 

The ungodly pulsing thing hidden in the bowels of that Lab. 

The people responsible for that had _been in his house._

He checks everything, tears everything apart, top to toe until he finds it. 

The recording device. 

They're _listening._

* * *

Unlike his so-called friends, Lucas actually cares about finding Will. He actually gives a damn about their friend who is in literal danger. Mike's too busy making heart-eyes at the first girl who doesn't think he's disgusting to think straight and Dustin's just really excited to be living in a comic book right now to take anything seriously. They need to focus and find Will because his last transmission had not sounded good. 

Sure, they wouldn't have had that last transmission if it wasn't for Eleven, but that's so not the point. They don't know anything about her. They don't know a damn thing about her at all except that she showed up out of nowhere and has a number for a name. 

She's also a freak. 

He just, he doesn't need distractions right now. Will needs the Party. Will needs them and Mike's too busy making sure she's okay to help him.

Dustin comes through for them.

Dustin runs them through a quick session about true north and compasses and how magnets affect them and they have their heading.

They know how to get to Will now, but Eleven is still out for the count. 

She's staring into open air again and Lucas doesn't have time for this. _Will_ doesn't have time for this, but Mike with his dumb bleeding heart is worried.

She is staring at space pretty _intensely,_ almost like she's looking for something and then she says "Seven."

She snaps back in and it's Mike who asks. 

"What's Seven?" 

She looks him dead in the eye and says "Brother." 

Well. Shit. 

* * *

Nancy finds them huddled together at Steve's house, pressed tightly against each other and whispering pretty intensely. It sends a pang through Nancy's heart but she marches up to them and clears her throat. 

They don't seperate guiltily, but Steve does have a mini heart attack and proceeds to fall unceremoniously to the ground. 

"What's going on, guys?" She asks, biting back hard on the accusatory tone she wants to use.

"Monster hunting." Barb says flat out, no inflection to her voice. 

Nancy nods along before her brain can process it but when it does, she stills.

"I'm sorry, what?" 

"We're going after that thing that almost killed me." Barb proclaims again, half shrugging. 

Nancy whirls around and jabs a finger at Steve's chest. 

_"You_ were the one that told me Barb was losing it."

"I've _changed?"_ He says weakly, shoulders bunched up to his ears.

She huffs, annoyed, taps her foot.

This whole situation is screwed up.

"So what _changed your mind_ then?" 

"Tommy's missing."

Oh.

Okay. 

"How can I help?" 

* * *

_Will Byers' fake body._

_The missing Mooney brothers._

_Tommy H._

_Mirkwood._

Somehow, all of this is tied together. 

* * *

The bear made him do it - pick at an old scab until it bled and then pour lemon juice over the wound. 

He phones his ex-wife just to hear her voice. Tells her he doesn't regret the seven years they had. 

He's given a harsh reminder of the unforgiving nature of time by a baby wailing in the background and he's reminded that she's moved on. 

She has Bill now. 

That's - that's good. 

He's happy for her. She deserves it. 

* * *

Karen stays with Joyce after the wake, helps her with cleanup. She sends Holly home and rings up the Dunwittys, asks if they wouldn't mind checking up on her, because Lord knows Ted won't do it and Nancy's, well she's not sure where Nancy's head's at these days. 

She keeps on meaning to have a meaningful conversation with her daughter about all these new developments but there hasn't been a good time for that. 

Maybe when it all settles down. 

She watches as Lonnie starts to take down Christmas lights and makes an abortive move to stop him. It doesn't feel right to do that. It feels like sacrilege.

"You really think you should be doing that?" she asks, gathering up coffee cups and bringing them to the kitchen. 

"Don't see how that's any of your business." 

Karen says nothing after that. Just continues straightening up. Joyce gets out of the shower when the last lights are removed and Lonnie's boarding up the hole in the wall. 

She reprimands him and Karen makes a quick exit, tries to give them a modicum of privacy. They don't fight for long, but Karen makes out snippets about Sattler Quarry and money and it churns her stomach.

_That can't be why he's here, can it?_

* * *

It is. He's here to clean up, to settle finances, to get _money._ His son is dead and he doesn't care. He just, he wants recompense. Money in exchange for a life. That absolute lowlife. 

Joyce yells and screams and throws things at him, releasing all her anger about the situation out on him, tosses him out on his ass. 

Karen observes this all gleefully, stepping in only afterwards when she burns out, when Lonnie's long gone and she breaks down crying. 

If this is all she can give her friend, she hopes it's enough. 

* * *

Lucas knew having the freak with them would cause trouble. He _knew_ it. She's been using them. Using Mike like a puppeteer. He was blinded by the littlest scrap of affection and look where it's gotten them. She screwed with the compasses and all of their heads and now Will's going to have to get through another day in that hellscape because of her meddling. 

He tells Mike this and gets flung into a train car for his troubles. 

He knew she was bad news and they didn't listen. 

To Hell with all of them. 

* * *

Robin honestly has no idea what to do about this whole situation. There's a guy passed out on her couch. Her parents won't care really, they're too hippy-dippy, free-spirited for that, but it doesn't change the fact that there's a _dude passed out on her couch_ , and has been for the better part of the day. Cupid seems to like him, and he doesn't like her _dad_ most days so that's something.

Should she still go to school today?

She can't exactly leave the kid unsupervised, now can she? 

Shouldn't _he_ be going to school today? She takes a closer look and decides, yeah, definitely her age. So why doesn't she know him?

Cupid snuggles deeper into his side and his shirt sleeve rides up, revealing a tattoo.

"Seven."

Okay?

* * *

Eleven's gone. Lucas is pissed off and Mike's well, Mike's Mike. The Party is splintering and Dustin has no clue how to fix it. These guys befriended him and made sure he had a home amongst the nerds when he moved here. He'd been ostracized at his old school, treated either as a circus act or a total weirdo. Of course it was more of the same here, but at least here he's not _alone._

He doesn't know if he can stand to lose them.

He has to fix this, fix them because there's no way they can save Will without each other.

Time for some serious damage control. 

* * *

His eyes snap open if as in a trance and he sits up abrubtly, startling Robin into dropping her thankfully empty coffee mug. She hops down from the counter and approaches slowly, like he's a deer and she's trying not to spook him.

She just needs answers.

"Who are you?" he asks, which really steals her thunder.

"No way, Bucko, I ask the questions."

"Bucko?" He asks, voice hoarse.

She ignores that for now and folds her arms. 

"Who are _you?_ " She asks, echoing him. 

His hand flies to his tattoo, stroking at the skin. "Seven." He mutters. 

"Like the _number?"_

He shrugs listlessly, eyes distant. 

"Well, I'm Robin, like the bird." 

His head dips curiously. 

"Bird?" 

What. Is. Happening? 

* * *

There's voices coming from the lounge when Karen returns from the bathroom, and for a moment she thinks that maybe Lonnie came back, maybe he hasn't had enough yet, but the tension in her shoulders goes out when she recognizes the voice as belonging to Hopper. She's about to walk in when something like gut instinct stays her impulse. 

"Okay. Should be okay... I mean, I can't guarantee it, but it should be okay."

"What the hell is going on, Hopper?" That's what Karen wants to know too. 

* * *

"You know, _bird?"_ Robin elaborates, feeling absurd as she links her thumbs together and mimics flying with her fingers. 

He pets Cupid's head and looks up at her. "Bird?" 

_"Dog._ Cupid." She reaches out and tugs at his collar, showing off the name tag. 

He lifts his shirtsleeve up and points at his tattoo. 

"Seven." 

Robin's stomach churns at that. 

* * *

"They bugged my place."

What? Karen can't have heard that right - _bugged?_

But Hopper helpfully repeats himself. 

"They put a microphone in the light."

 _O-o-okay._

* * *

"Are there others?" Robin asks tentatively, not wanting to know but curious despite herself. "Other... Uhh, _numbers?"_

"Just Eleven."

Well, shit. 

And because she can't help herself, she asks "What happened to the rest?" 

"Gone."

Oh.

"Well, where's Eleven then?" 

He opens his mouth as if to answer, but then darts his eyes to the door and stands up. Cupid mirrors him, hairs on end. 

Robin tenses. 

* * *

"It's because I'm onto them and they know it." 

_What?_ Joyce doesn't need this right now. Doesn't need to fuel Hopper's paranoia, needs to focus on herself. Karen needs to get Hopper out of here. 

His next words stop her cold. 

"I thought they may be watching you too. The CIA, NSA, The Department of Energy."

 _Watching_ her?

The _government?_

* * *

Seven takes off running and Robin's too invested in this to just let him go, so she follows. 

* * *

"I went to the morgue last night, Joyce."

Karen's heartbeat spikes. What is he going to say now? 

"It wasn't him."

Wasn't _who?_

* * *

He's fast, faster than she was expecting and Robin's suddenly thankful for her years on track, which enables her to keep up. He's sprinting towards the forest, deeper into it and she recognizes the route as the way to Steve Harrington's house, which is a wild thought to be having right now, but's it's incongruous enough that it sneaks up on her anyway. 

Where the hell are they going? 

* * *

"Will's body. It was fake."

Blood rushes in Karen's ears. She can't have heard that right. 

A fake body?

A _fake body._

 _A fake body?_ Joyce and Hopper are staring at her now and - oh, she said that - she said that out loud.

"Someone needs to explain what the hell is happening here _right the fuck_ now."

* * *

They're in a clearing now, a clearing with Barb Holland and Steve Harrington, both with flashlights, both frantically calling out for Nancy. 

It's an odd duo. An odd scene. An odd entire day. 

Steve whirls around, and upon spotting the boy, marches towards them, seemingly unaware of Robin's presence.

" _You!"_

Sevenignores him, strides past him and walks over to one of the trees, ducking down and _going through it what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck?_

* * *

Nancy's heart jackrabbits in her chest, eyes squeezed shut, palms sweating around the bat Steve had relinquished to her.

Something's _in here with her._ Something big with _no face - exactly_ like Barb had said. She is sorry for ever having doubted her friend and if she makes it out of here, she'll be sure to tell her that. She'll hug her mom, hug her _brother,_ but please God, let her make it out of here.

She wonders if fear is making her hallucinate because the boy from the party stands in front of her, grabbing her hand, pulling her to the exit that had seemed so impossibly far away, pushing her back out to safety, directly into Steve's waiting arms.

She turns around, reaches her hand out to pull him out too, so thankful to him that she doesn't even question his presence. 

He's about to take her hand, but hears the low growl of the monster behind them causing him to turn away, go back in.

She takes a step closer, not willing to leave him alone with that _thing,_ but Steve's hand curls around her bicep, whether in fear or protection, she can't tell, halting her movement.

"Go." The boy says, backing up, going _deeper_ inside and she reaches out to stop him, to do something, but he's almost too far to get to, she's not willing to go back in there, but then _Robin Buckley_ is there, reaching out too, actually getting a handhold on his wrist before he's tilting his head and catching her eye.

A voice in all their heads says _Run_ and they do instinctively, without thought.

They find themselves back at Steve's when the compulsion breaks, sides aching and horror setting in.

They'd _left him there._

_Oh - oh God._

* * *

Seven's gone. Into frigging Tree World or whatever that was, and she ran away. She ran away even though she didn't want to, leaving the kid. She didn't _want to_ but she did. They all did and she can't imagine that was a coincidence.

She still has no clue why these three are together, has no clue who that kid was, but she does know that the kid walked _into_ a tree like some crappy sci-fi movie and that's all she can focus on right now.

She turns to the motley crew of Barb, Steve and Nancy and puts on her best Bitch Face. 

"Someone needs to explain what the hell is happening here _right the fuck_ now!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was so fun to write. I really like making the characters feel more lived in, fleshing them out and remaking them in my image. I glossed over a few scenes becausethere was way too much dialogue and didn't fit and it felt awkward to write, and I can't imagine it was aa better read so I trimmed the fat and this is the left overs. I sidelined Holly because she's a little kid, but vote on if Erica should show up. I think I could squeeze her in somewhere because I love her but I don't know...
> 
> This will wrap up soon and I might do season 2 if there's enough interest, but I don't know how that will play out yet. 
> 
> The next chapter is gonna be different to these so hold on to your hats for that one. As always, I love all the comments and I try to reply to them, so keep em coming. 
> 
> There's a bit here when it shifts between Robin and Karen's POV'S that is supposed to be happening at the same time. I don't know if that came across, but imagine a split screen. 
> 
> If you've read this, I love you too!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The White Room. And other assorted things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...

_007, seek._

_The words are familiar, bored sounding and clinical. He feels the blindfold fall at his feet, but doesn't open his eyes yet. He listens first, tries to determine where he is. He's in the middle of the room, that much is obvious, and alone._

_In the room across the hall are four scientists - watching. One's drinking coffee, freshly brewed, another is taking notes on a legal pad and has just run out of ink. The door opens, and a harried scientist plops down, lab coat fluttering._

_"Did I miss anything?"_

_"No. He's just standing there."_

_"Should we **entice** him?" This one sounds excited at the prospect. _

_"Not yet, Ben. Let's see what he does."_

_007 filters them out. They're not what he's looking for. He tilts his head a little to the left and focuses._

_A ticking clock. Someone clearing their throat._

_A mop being wrung out._

_Humming._

_A heartbeat._

_He opens his eyes._

_One of the scientists leans forward, noticing the movement._

_"Here we go."_

_He walks out of the room, takes a left and two rights, down the stairs and stops at a broom closet._

_He opens it._

_"Found you." 008 sighs as she gets up, folding her arms._

_"How?"_

_He taps his ear. "I listen."_

* * *

He hasn't been in the Outside World for long but he prefers it to this one. This one is cold and silent. It's like the Lab, but emptier, more dangerous.

The beast, it would seem, has given up the hunt for now - or found new prey.

007 slows down and begins to plan. 

* * *

_The Scientists like to play games with them. Like to put their skills to the test. Sometimes, like with hide and seek, it's easy. Sometimes like with this game, it's hard._

_Standing across from him is 006._

_006 is older, bigger,_ **_meaner_** _. She's been isolated for months. Her hard-won control has been shattered._

_Why?_

_Because the Scientists like to play games._

_Standing this close to her is making his head swim. She's scared. Or maybe it's him that's scared?_

_No, she's - they're angry._

_He can't tell where his emotions end and hers begin._

_"Calm down." He tells her, slightly more desperate than he intended._

_"Shut up!" She barks, and anger rises in him too._

_He almost wants to tell her the same thing, knows that he can actually get her to stop talking but knows that that's exactly what the Scientists want._

_"Don't do this." He begs, softly so they don't pick it up._

_"You think I want to?!" She barks, voice tinted with hopelessness._

_"Calm down." He orders, already knowing he made a mistake._

_Electricity courses through his body, stemming from the implant in his neck and he bites back a scream._

_"None of that!" a Scientist barks, but 007 knows he wants it to happen again. This one is dangerous._

_"Ben, relax!"_

_"Come on, Sophie, where's your sense of adventure?"_

_"Somewhere that doesn't compromise the results, you idiot."_

_They forget he can hear them sometimes, but he filters them out, filters it all out and just focuses on 006._

_"006, make him angry." The woman orders, and 007 feels his emotions respond._

_"Stop." He begs, trying not to make it a command._

_"I can't! I don't know what they did to me, but I can't."_

_"Make him fear you."_

_Their emotions are so closely connected that he can feel her disgust and her hopelessness, but the fear is the most noticeable, most tangible._

_"Stop her." He's terrified of her, of what she'll do and he obliges, only remembering that none of it is real when his head is clear again._

_He reaches into her mind and tries to calm her down without saying anything, something he's been practicing with 008. He can feel it working, can feel her relax and he breathes._

_His calm lasts only a second._

_Her emotions are suddenly loudloudloud, overwhelming him and forcing him to his knees._

_The drug they'd given 006 had finally kicked in, bleeding over into their connection, sending him into a tailspin._

_His vision goes red._

_Rage is an all-consuming feeling. It's all he can seetouchtaste. It's all he is. The roots of his hair and the heels of his feet positively sing with rage._

_It's all he knows._

_Hands on his throat._

_Rancid breath._

_The taste of blood coats his tongue and he snaps out of it._

_006 is still on top of him, blinded by angerfeardesperation and he can't lift her off him._

_He has only one option._

_**"Stop."** He commands, but it doesn't work, her brain too muddled by the drug for it to penetrate. _

_Her hand finds its way back around his throat and throttles him._

_She's strong._

_He's going to die._

_"Finish it!" The male scientist says, voice eager, downright gleeful._

_007 thinks of the others, 008 and the rest. He can't just leave them, can't give up. He closes his eyes and lets the rage simmering beneath his control bloom again._

_There's no way he can do what he has to with full control of his facilities._

* * *

_His head throbs._

_Blood dribbles down his chin._

_His throat is wrecked._

_He reaches down and closes 006's eyelids._

_He gets up and walks away._

* * *

_"What happened?" 008 will ask, passing him an ice pack, later that night._

_"Nothing."_

* * *

This place is bone-chillingly silent. No signs of life outside of the beast. His every breath echoes back at him, loud and ominous. There's nothing here but trees and monsters. Everything feels weirdly connected, like it shares a heartbeat and he doesn't like it. He wants to leave, but not with the way his gut is screaming for him to stay. He can't explain it, but he knows he needs to be here.

* * *

_007, seek._

_He opens his eyes to darkness. One of those this time then. No sight._

_He's the one in the broom closet this time, he knows this because the space is cramped, tiny, his back digging into the shelf behind him._

_They've made it harder this time, more complicated. More outside noises._

_It's raining. Pouring, more precisely, drowning out most other sounds. The kitchen staff is prepping for lunch. A game is on, crowds cheering. Music, loud, more noise than anything else blares in the distance. Noises he doesn't know all vie for his attention the second he opens the door._

_There's an assortment of smells too._

_They pulled out all the stops with this one._

_He knows the scientists are watching but for the first ilrime in a long time he doesn't know **where they are** and it unsettles him._

_It makes no difference either way, but he closes his eyes and focuses._

_Several heartbeats in a cluster. Excitement, anger, pride and spite. Football game._

_Boredom. Kitchen._

_Palpable excitement. Scientists._

_One lone heartbeat, three floors up._

_Two._

_Three._

_Five in total, spaced out._

_Only one of them is the real one._

_008 looks puzzled that she's been found out so easily._

_"I thought I tricked you."_

_He swipes under her nose and shows her the blood._

_"Try again."_

* * *

_He's been practicing expanding his abilities covertly with 008. She insists. "What's the point of controlling others if you can't control **them?"** She asks one day, after a particularly brutal session._

_It's a good point._

_So sometimes, under the guise of playing, she'll put different shields in front of her eyes and tell him to make her do things. Things that aren't obvious commands. Things that they'd do while playing._

_Laugh._

_Throw._

_Dance._

_He gets it right eventually. He tells her to jump up and look silly and she does, seemingly stunned._

_She hugs him._

_"You're amazing." She whispers._

* * *

_He makes the mistake of trying it out on a Scientist when she gets too rough on one of the others, pulling him out of the room when he's clearly unwilling._

_"Let him go." He says, and the scientist obeys, easily._

_Behind the lenses of her glasses, her eyebrows raise, having not expected that._

_"Well then. Seems young 007's learned a new skill. Can't have you thinking you can use it on just anyone, now can we?"_

_She forgets about 009, who wisely scrambles away before he can be remembered again, and grabs 007's arm._

_"Come along, then."_

_He goes along, despite knowing where she'll take him._

_Rather him than them._

_The Scientist shoves him into the White Room roughly, and he barely manages to catch himself, but it's a near thing._

_He glares behind him but the door's already sealed shut._

_He's alone._

_There's nothingness all around him. White walls, white floors, no corners or edges to let him know where anything is._

_There's nothing to look at, even the doorway blends in with his surroundings and it's enough to drive him mad._

_His enhanced senses means he sees every particle, every tiny little detail in perfect clarity and there's no detail here to see. Nothing to pick apart._

_It's also soundproofed, so even if he extends his senses to their extremes, he can't hear anything, smell anything. An hour in here is enough to drive him mad._

_Considerably more than an hour passes before he's let out, and it's like he can finally breathe._

_He gets to his room and slumps into his bed gratefully, studying the blue comforter like it's the most interesting colour he's ever seen._

* * *

_"We've got to get out of here." 008 proclaims one day_ , _apropos of nothing. He agrees listlessly, staring at the contents of his tray. The Scientists tell him Papa's going to be in one of his sessions tonight._

_He doesn't want to know what He'll make him do. Doesn't want to think about it._

_"I'm serious. Me, you, the others. Get out of here before we lose out minds."_

_"Sure, 008. Tell me when."_

_She pouts._

_"Just... Promise me you'll think about it."_

* * *

_009 gets sick one day and doesn't get better for a long time. The Scientists take him to the Infirmary and tell them he dies there._

_Their heartbeats say lie._

* * *

_010 is a powerful teleporter. One day, Seven wakes up and she's just gone._

_The scientists know that even 007 won't be able to find her._

_She's free._

* * *

_The dog is long gone, and he's been back in his room for a while, but he can still hear the man's screams._

_He can still hear his friend calling out for him, begging 007 to stop._

_He knows the Scientist wouldn't have stopped if it had been him, but it doesn't change the facts - doesn't erase what he did - doesn't make him feel any better._

_He can still smell the blood._

_He can still hear the screams._

_He doesn't think he'll ever stop hearing the screams._

_His name had been Ben._

_She had been 006._

_007 had no choice._

_Right?_

* * *

_Papa tells him he did good. He gets a decadent meal. The Scientists leave him alone for a while._

_He hates it._

* * *

_"He was screwing with the experiment, Joe."_

_"He was getting results, damn it!"_

_"He was tainting the project."_

_"Then Brenner should have just axed him. Not - not **that."**_

_"And risk what we're doing here getting out?"_

_"He signed an NDA."_

_"Maybe this was the fine print. Besides, now we know the kid's baseline. I wonder if he can get humans to do it too."_

* * *

_They always forget he can hear them._

* * *

_008's right._

* * *

_"Let's do it." He tells her as quietly as he can, not daring to risk anyone overhearing them. It's akin to treason, what they're discussing._

_She immediately catches on._

_Smiles._

_"_ _Tonight?"_

_"Yes."_

* * *

He's been walking for a while now. He's made some observations. This place is the same as Outside, aside from a few things. He sees the house from the party, only without the guests. It's the same, but the pool's empty. It's the same except the ways that count. 

He thinks of them now. Wonders where the other boy had been. When he and Robin had found them, he hadn't been there. 

The other girl too, but he never told her not to talk. He wonders if the boy ever talked again. 

He doesn't have to wonder for long. 

He finds out where he got to pretty quickly - by tripping over his head. 

* * *

_She doesn't bring 011._

_"She's just a baby."_ _She tells him._

_"She'll slow us down."_

_"We can't just leave her here."_

_"We have no choice!"_

_She stands outside, so tantalizingly close to freedom, but he can't._

_Not without her._

_"Go."_

_Her lip curls in a moue of distaste._

_"Don't try to find me."_

* * *

_"007, seek."_

_He knows exactly where she is. He knows exactly the words to tell them. She can't hide from him as well as she thinks._

_He opens his eyes._

_"I can't find her."_

_A burning tingle travels all the way down his spine but he ignores it, was expecting it._

_"Try again."_

_Don't try to find me._

* * *

_She gazes imploringly at him. "You won't change your mind?"_

_"I can't leave her here."_

_She reaches out and cups his cheek._

_"They'll kill you."_

_"They won't."_

_Her hand slips away._

_"Don't try to find me." She reiterates._

_"Don't make it too easy."_

* * *

_She thinks she's making it difficult._

_She's not._

* * *

_"She's gone."_

_He's numb to the shocks by now, doesn't even feel them. They no longer work._

_The Scientist, Joe, the one who's friend Papa had him kill is in charge of the interrogation. He's only too happy to inflict pain._

_He reaches out and punches 007 in the gut._

_"Again."_

_He can see her clear as day, her fear and determination a tactile thing. Her heart is racing and he can't tell which one it's for. She's getting further away now and he hopes his stalling can get her further still._

_He might always be able to find her, but he's going to make sure they never do._

_"I'll never tell you." He grins and there's blood in his smile._

_Joe yanks his head back hard._

_"Tell me where she is, you little shit."_

_007 responds by releasing a glob of blood-flecked spit right in the man's face._

* * *

Make yourself at home, James Bond. You're gonna be in here for a while.

A closed door.

An endless stretch of white. 

* * *

_He doesn't know how long he's been in there. They give him food and water, something they've never done before, so he imagines it's been a while. His lips are cracked and dry. His body hurts and it feels like he's dying._

_The only colour he's seen in a while is the red from his wounds, and they keep sending in the medics to bandage them up. More whiteness._

_He's drained and tired and willing to do almost anything to get this to stop, but he knows he can't. He shouldn't._

_She's free._

* * *

_His wounds have closed up, healed and that can't be a good indicator of the passing of time. His only lifeline now is sleep, the blank darkness a comfort, a relief from the white he's faced with._

_They don't let him sleep for long._

_The only time he hears any type of sound is when they blast an alarm in his ear, shocking him awake._

_He can't find a speaker._

_He's slowly going insane._

* * *

_"Where is she?" They ask again, when they release him the first time._

_He giggles deliriously and doesn't answer._

_They put him back in._

* * *

_He doesn't squeal._

_They don't break him._

_They don't win._

_They don't find her._

* * *

The boy's dead. That much is obvious. If he's _not_ dead, he's walking around without the right half of his skull, and 007 just can't imagine that that's the case. He'd feel guilty, but can't manage it right now. 

The beast has found him again. 

He runs. 

* * *

He hides in one of the houses, makes himself smaller. Wonders if he can control the beast. 

He did it once, but it felt like ripping his head open and he doesn't want a repeat performance. 

He also doesn't want to die so... 

Where does that leave him? 

Well, it's not like he's ever had a lot of options. 

* * *

"007, can you hear me?" It's 011's voice but she sounds odd, distorted and echoey. He doesn't like it. 

"Where are you?" 

"Outside." He knows she means Outside of here, _safe_ and he breathes out in relief. 

That's one less thing. 

"I know you're not." She tells him, sounding devastated. "I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault."

"I opened it." She tells him. "I opened it and then we ran." 

"Papa's fault." he reassures her, because he knows it to be true. Everything that has ever happened to them, all the Bad Things have been Papa's fault. 

This isn't any different. 

"011?" a new voice, a nice voice asks. "Who's that?" 

"Seven. My brother." 

"He's here with you?" 

"Upside Down." 

"Oh." He wants to hear her voice forever. She sounds like safety. 

"Can he help?" She asks. He doesn't like that she sounds sad though. He wants her to be happy always. 

"Yes. He's good at finding." 

_"Will_ he help?" This is a different voice, meaner, gruffer, but also safe. 

"I'll ask."

"There's a boy there with you." 011 explains, tells him about Will. 

He listens and catalogues the important stuff like he'd been taught. Heartbeat, smell, distinguishing stuff. 

"Got it." He tells her when she's done. 

"You sure?" 

"Yes." 

" _007, seek."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This first half was impossible to write. Everything I wrote felt clunky and dull. This was gonna be longer but my inspiration and motivation took their leave without warning, leaving me stranded. The next chapter is also very much hiding from me because I have no clue how the gang's all gonna get together for the finale because the way they did it in the show was The Fight between Jonathan and Steve and obviously that's a no go so I'm a little stumped on that, but my Muse, or your guys ideas will hopefully give me the boost I need. I dont really like how this came out. I had more planned for this but it just didn't work out so...  
> I might write a tie-in fic of Jonathan's time in the lab and expand on all of this and maybe I'll be happier for it.
> 
> Your reviews keep me sane.  
> It's almost Eid, so I'll likely be busy with prep for that but you know, when the Muse strikes, I can't exactly deny her so...  
> Anyway. As always feel free to hate this. The nice voice is indeed Joyce.
> 
> The good at finding bit is solely because Will'ss good at hiding.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I finished writing this at 4AM.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why did I finish writing this at 4AM? Why. Plot contrivances in my story? It's more likely than you think. The scenes with Nancy and them were so hard to write for some reason. Like they're just ugh. A few more chapters left guys. I'm kinda sad.
> 
> And very tired. 
> 
> It was 4AM when I finished this and I woke up at 7. 
> 
> Insomnia kicked my ass so I figured I might as well make use of the time not sleeping by writing. So.

* * *

There'd been a Plan. Jim was sure that there'd been a Plan. Coming here, letting Joyce in on all the shady shit he'd uncovered, about how he was pretty sure Will wasn't dead, _that_ had been the Plan. Karen Wheeler had very much not factored into the Plan at all.

Okay, so her being here, overhearing the entire conversation had been the result of him not being as paranoid about the sensitive nature of this discussion as he _probably should have been,_ but there's not a whole lot he can do about it _now._

He goes through everything he's learned so far with the both of them, starting with the lab itself and ending with the _thing_ in the basement 

Karen seems justifiably confused and startled by the entire thing, but Joyce seems keyed up and raring to go. She hasn't sat down since he started explaining, leaning on the back of a chair, smoking a cigarette, noticeably tense.

"Look, we've gotta go through this again." She states after a long silence. 

He sighs.

Hadn't he just - ? 

He tells them again. 

"There was a labratory. It was where they, I dunno, do experiments or something. And there... there was this kid's room." He admits after a beat.

He's about to mention that there'd been two, but Joyce barrels on, asking him how he _knew_ it had been a kid's room. 

There'd been signs - things he'd (not forgotten, _never_ forgotten) pushed out of his mind after Sarah - the size of the bed, the stick figure drawings (he'll never get to show another anatomically incorrect depiction of himself off ever again) toys, the little things that all pointed toward it undeniably being a kid's bedroom. 

She seems fixated on the drawing though, asking him if it had been good. 

"It was a _kid's drawing,_ Joyce. Stick figures." She goes over to the fridge and pulls off a sheet of paper, dropping it on the table. 

It's good. Kid's got talent. 

_(A memory, unbidden of Sarah, grinning widely, a gap in her smile from having an appointment with the tooth fairy, bowing her head a little to accept her spelling bee ribbon, the word **odontologia;** the tiny little smirk she wore just for him to see...)_

_"_ Not Will." She says, sure as sure, and Jim has to agree. That picture had been drawn in a child's likeness and nothing like the picture in front of him. 

"If not Will, then who?" Karen asks, drawing their attention back to the matter at hand. 

Something Earl had said, back when he'd questioned him and Benny in those early hours after Will's disappearance comes back to him like a freight truck. 

He'd said something about two kids hadn't he? Two boys - one who'd shared an _uncanny_ resemblance to _Lonnie..._

He agonizes over whether he should divulge that particular bit of information to them, if that would help or hurt Joyce right now, but decides against it. 

(It's _not_ like Lonnie'd been the most faithful of partners, so it's not out of the realm of possibility that he'd have some other kid out there right?... Of course, that still leaves the question of _why_ the kid's on the run with this other kid?) 

Ultimately, that's a big mess he's not willing to wade through just yet so he leaves it, he'll deal with it when it becomes an issue - and that's not now so...

They have a new lead though - a lead named Terry Ives. 

* * *

"So, who wants to go first?" Robin queries, perched uncomfortably on the edge of Steve's couch. Cupid, the little shit, has already made himself at home in a cozy little corner by the fireplace, seemingly unbothered by the preceding events of the night. 

She keeps _picturing_ it in her mind's eye - the _goopy, oozing portal into an alternate dimension._ The goopy, oozing portal into an alternate dimension she'd willingly stuck her _hand_ into. The goopy oozing portal she'd stuck her hand into for some _kid she didn't know._ The goopy, ooozing portal she'd stuck her hand into for some kid she didn't know, who'd had _superpowers._

A dull pounding takes residence in her skull and she grits her teeth against the pain. 

Nancy shakes loose a nasty helping of Tree World from her hair and shudders with her whole being. "Shower first." She declares and Robin allows it, because ick. 

When Nancy returns, embraced in Steve's hoodie, face pink either from rigorous scrubbing or heat from the shower, she sinks down next to Cupid and scratches behind his ear. 

The traitor allows the motion, wagging his tail happily. 

"Okay, so, someone still needs to tell me what the hell's going on!" Robin demands, sinking back into the incredible softness of Steve's couch. 

"Hey, you were the one who showed up with the guy! How about _you_ give _us_ the scoop?" Steve spits out, trying to look tough. He misses by a wide margin, and Robin barely holds back her laughter at that display. 

"I made the mistake of bringing some rando into my house, cause he'd like passed out or whatever, but if I'd known that _this_ would have been the outcome, I'da left him out on the streets." Robin admits tactfully, even though she knows that she probably wouldn't have. 

He was so _skinny,_ so _hopeless looking_ and Robin's always been the kid who'd tried to adopt all the stray animals - a habit her parents indulged, hence Cupid - and she'd never been able to turn away a lost cause. 

"So you _say._ " Steve argues petulantly, the tiniest pout on his lips. 

He's such a child. _How_ does Tammi Thompson have a crush on him again? 

"So I say." She repeats, not backing down. 

"So, he just passed out in front of your house?" Nancy interrupts, finger-combing her hair to make sure it's gunk free. 

"Yep." She pops the 'p' pointedly, hoping they get that she's being honest. 

"So, we've given _me_ the business, now you." She folds her arms and leans back, waiting for them to fill in the blanks.

* * *

Nancy decides she likes Robin. She likes that the girl doesn't take any of their shit and cuts right to the bone. She says she stumbled into this unknowingly, and Nancy believes that. It's honestly not like _they'd_ gone looking for any of this either. 

She settles in for the long haul and lets Barb take the lead. She's the one, after all, who'd seen the monster first. 

( _No face. Jaw unhinging, dividing into **four separate parts,** oh God, I'm going to die, I'm going to die, I'm going to die. Its head swiveling, picking up her scent, rushing at her... The boy, his hand on her wrist, pulling her out to safety, **sacrificing himself**...)_

She tries to shut it out, but it's hard, so hard, so very hard. A tiny bundle of warmth snuggles into her side and brings her back into the moment and it's Robin's dog, seemingly sensing her distress. She scratches under his chin as a thank you. 

Barb's still explaining her side, about how she'd been out there _alone, on her own, by **herself,**_ and Nancy freezes, every worst case scenario playing through her head. 

If it hadn't been for that boy... 

She gets up and buries her face in Barb's neck, startling her best friend, but not letting go. 

"I'm sorry I've been a shitty friend lately." She whispers, hugging her tightly. 

Barb shushes her, rearranges them so they're both more comfortable, and carries on with her story like nothing even happened. Nancy knows she's forgiven and she snuggles closer into her best friend's side. 

Steve looks away and she has to wonder what he's thinking, but right now, she's too contented to care. 

"Wait, the kid used mind-control on the _monster?"_ Robin screeches out. 

"Yeah. I mean, I didn't really clock it as mind-control back then, but yeah. He told that - that..." She coughs as she tries to collect herself, and boy does Nancy understand that feeling, ( _they could have died)_

"That _thing."_ Barb settles on eventually. "He told that thing to stop, to go back and it _listened."_ Barely noticeable trembles track their way through Barb's body, and Nancy gives her hand a squeeze. 

"It listened, and slunk back into the pool - or you know, the apparent _portal into Hell_. Then the kid passed out and well..." 

Nancy feels her cheeks get warm and she buries her face in her hands.

Steve suddenly finds the fireplace poker exceedingly interesting and stares at it intensely. 

There's a sudden tension in the air. 

It's broken easily by Robin's full-bellied cackle, a cackle that has her literally on the floor. 

"It's not that funny." Steve says, sounding miffed. 

"It's a _little_ funny." Barb admits, patting Nancy on the head. 

"Oh man, I can't even _imagine_ walking away from like possibly the most _terrifying_ experience of your life with barely a scratch to show for it, and then walking in on your best friend having..." Robin doesn't finish her sentence, breaking out into peals of laughter again. 

It's hardly that funny, definitely more awkward than anything but Nancy can see that it's cathartic for Robin and that brings out a tiny chuckle in Nancy. And then the dam breaks and they're all chortling, even though nothing's funny, not anymore. 

* * *

Man, and Robin had thought that _accepting her sexuality_ was going to be the highlight of her Sophomore year. 

* * *

They try to sideline her, try to tell her that she needs to _go home and get some rest._ They clearly think she's an idiot if they believe she's gonna fall for that. She _went to high school_ with them, lest they forget, seen firsthand their impulsive streaks and knows for a fact that they're going to search for this Terry Ives person. 

They're both bull-headed idiots, and they're going to need her calm temperament to balance them out. 

"If you think I'm going to walk away from this, knowing what I know, you're bigger idiots than I thought." 

Joyce, it would seem had been ready for this, and settles down in front of her. "Go home, Karen. You have your kids to think about. I..." her eyes get watery, and she looks away, blinking rapidly, "I _don't."_ Her grip turns to steel and she leans in. "Go home and pretend that everything's fine. Hug your kids. For me." 

Karen almost caves, but tries one last time. 

"I can't just leave. If Will's out there, if this Terry Ives woman knows something, I want to be there for you, Joyce. I _have to know._ "

Joyce and Hopper share a look. 

"We'll find a way to get a message to you." Hopper states and Karen sets her teeth. 

"I'm. Coming. With. You." 

And that's that. 

* * *

So, Robin's all caught up now, she _thinks._ They've moved the party over to Nancy's house so that Nancy can get into some clothes that fit, and Robin takes a look around. It's very cutesy, this room, very different from the Nancy Robin's getting to know. She wonders if Nancy's also getting to know this Nancy, or if the room is a façade.

Barb seemingly had an epiphany back at Steve's and is flipping through one of Nancy's textbooks trying to find something. 

Steve seems to be off in his own world, also taking in Nancy's room. 

She snaps her fingers in front of his face, drawing his attention back to the now. 

"You with us, dingus?"

"Yeah," he says, eyes coming back into focus, "It's just, it's crazy that the last time I was in here..." He seems to remember himself and trails off, but Robin's got the gist of what he'd meant.

Last week, she'd been conjugating French vowels for some 20 year old senior and now... 

Now she's in Nancy Wheeler's room, not quite sane.

"Found it!" Barb exclaims excitedly, bringing them back into the fold.

"Found what?" Nancy asks, coming back into the room.

Wow. She's. It would seem that Tammi Thompson is not the only girl she and Steve can agree on. 

"I was thinking..." Barb continues, oblivious to Robin's revelation, "You said it was feeding on a deer right?" She asks, directing her question at Nancy, who nods.

"Like a predator." Robin remarks, catching on.

A predator that hunts at night and is attracted to blood. 

"Sharks can detect blood in one part per million." Barb recites, reading from the text in front of her.

"That's one drop in a million. And they can smell it from a quarter mile away." Nancy realizes.

Robin does not like where this is heading.

Just like that, they have a theory. Just like that, they have a _plan._

An awful plan, but a plan nonetheless.

* * *

Terry Ives is a shell of a woman. She's decidedly not what they'd been expecting. She's broken in a way that sends Joyce all the way back to the woman she'd been after Jonathan. Catatonic and barely functioning, a helpless mess.

She's a woman who's had her will shattered, destroyed and Joyce's heart aches. 

This could have been her. 

She tries to ask about Will, about Dr Brenner, but gets no response, not a word and the fragile hope that had been blooming in her chest snuffs out.

* * *

Dustin really is friends with a bunch of stubborn, dumb assholes. They're too busy with their Alpha Posturing to remember what this is actually about. It's about _Will._ Not their dumb pride _or_ their dumb egos. This whole issue is detracting from finding their friend.

Yeah, okay, he knows invoking the lessons they'd learned on the Bloodstone Pass is weird timing, but it's the closest thing he has to an anecdote that can make them reevaluate, regroup, _get their heads out of their asses._ And sure, the Pass had _significantly_ lower stakes than this, but it's the only comparison he can think to make in this situation. They shouldn't be splitting up. They should not strike out on their own. There are real dangers this time. They could _actually_ die.

In hindsight, mentioning that he'd thought Eleven flinging Lucas through the air like a ragdoll had been _awesome_ might not have been the smartest move he could have made given the circumstances.

It's just - he's not _the wise one._ He's not the mediator. He's not the kid who came up with the First Blood rule in the first place. _That_ had been Will. Will was their go-to for shit like this. Will was their gooey centre and without him, they just didn't work. They were just a few kids with a common interest - friends by association, and Dustin can't go back to eating alone at lunch. He _won't._

Lucas wants to strike out on his own without Eleven.

Mike wants to find Eleven. 

They've both got good points but Mike's got a better case. 

He hates to do this, hates to pick sides, but Lucas's bullheadedness is not something that they can blow past easily, so he really doesn't see any choice but to go with Mike on this one.

He really hopes that when they find Will, he won't discover how much of an idiotic ensemble his friends are without him. 

* * *

The more they learn about Terry Ives, the less they wish they knew. It's a heartbreaking story. It really is. It's also disgusting and exploitative and makes Joyce feel a type of way. The total depravity of humanity never ceases to amaze her, but this is on a whole other level. This Dr Brenner guy, he's got the whole world fooled. He's coasting on his privilege, proof that absolute power corrupts, and she hates him for that. 

She has to wonder how someone can get so twisted, how someone can see a person in a vulnerable state and think _how can I exploit you?_

Terry's sister doesn't seem to think Terry's been telling the truth. She thinks her sister was some kind of paranoid conspiracy theorist and well, Joyce can't really blame her.

She'd been like that once. 

She'd been like that a few days ago. 

( _You think they did that moon-landing thing?" Lonnie had asked her once, way back in the beginning of their_ thing.

_"Sure. I mean, why fake it?"_

_"You gotta think Big Picture, sweetheart." Lonnie rebutts, sending smoke rings into the sky._

_"And that would be?"_

_"You'd figure that a guy like Nixon, a guy with that much power and influence, he's gotta know some shit about some shit, right? Gotta know where the bodies are buried. So he sends his guys up there to take a look around and report back, yeah? Make sure everything's all copacetic and what not? Gotta account for aliens. Alternate universes and that type of shit. Maybe they never even got to the moon. Maybe they straight up popped into some kinda alternate dimension, and duped us into thinking they'd been up there."_

_Joyce had laughed and snatched the doobie from his hands, taking a drag for herself._

_"You need to lay off this stuff, Lon. It'll rot your brain.)_

Thinking back on that conversation is bizarre, because it's probably the only time in his thrice-damned life that he'll ever be onto something and he'd been high as a kite for it.

She looks over and sees Karen with an odd look on her face and she sobers up. She can't even begin to conceptualize how her friend must be feeling right now.

Sure, Joyce had been dragged into this hellmouth kicking and screaming, but it had been for _Will_ and she knows without a doubt, even knowing what she knows now, she'd do the same thing again for her boy, but Karen? She's only here because she was trying to be a good friend. Trying to repair a friendship that had been strained for a while now, and Joyce doesn't exactly feel _great_ about it.

Karen's got a three year old to think about. She hadn't needed this extra stress in her life. She hadn't needed it, but she chose to be here and that says everything doesn't it?

She reaches out and squeezes her friend's hand, hopes it conveys everything she can't say out loud, can't express in words, hopes it will be enough. 

And then Becky says something that absolutely shatters Joyce's composure. 

Terry Ives had miscarried. 

* * *

_Her water breaks and Lonnie, unsurprisingly, is nowhere to be found. He's probably at a bar, getting congratulated for creating a son. He's getting acclaim because he'd been able to produce a male heir and she's still a slut because she's having a baby out of wedlock. She's just over the double standards._

_She'll be damned if her kid is anything like Lonnie, or anyone in this small-minded, backwards, inbred town. She's gonna raise him in her image, give him a foundation and get him the Hell out of here._

_He won't be trapped like she is. He won't be stuck in a dead end job, with some humourless wife and five kids. He'll be out there living the glitziest life possible, she'll make sure of it._

_A contraction hits and it hits hard, forcing her to her knees._

_She's gonna give him an amazing future_ after _she brings him into this world._

_She dials the only other number she can think of and thanks the heavens for Karen._

_They get to the hospital and she's rushed into the labour ward._

_It's 10 hours of agony, 10 hours of pain that Karen assures her she'll forget immediately after she's holding her baby, and she would know right?_

_Wrong._

_There's a complication._

_She loses a lot of blood._

_She's so weak._

_She's so tired._

_Her baby doesn't cry._

_They won't let her hold him._

_Her baby doesn't cry, but Joyce does._

* * *

She's knocked back into the present by Hopper rubbing soothing circles into her back, and she blinks back tears.

Becky looks over worriedly, afraid she said something wrong, but Joyce needs to hear the rest. She _needs_ to.

* * *

The bedroom is like a shrine to a child Terry's never met. A moment in time, trapped for eternity. A physical manifestation of this woman's grief. Joyce would have called this behavior insane a few days ago, but now - Christmas lights strung up all over the place, the paint of her impromptu message board still drying on the walls - she _understands._

She'd destroyed everything in her nursery, shoddily painted the walls, tried to delete all traces of her baby from her mind, and Terry had done the opposite, preserving this room, believing her little girl to be out there somewhere, holding her in stasis, perpetually an infant - her little Peter Pan. 

It breaks Joyce's heart. 

* * *

CIA, NSA, Government conspiracies. Karen's officially tapped out. _Goodbye cruel world._ And now, apparently fake miscarriages. As if the situation needed more depravity.

Hopper had been pretty _certain_ about the miscarriage being a cover-up and she has to wonder what he knows.

All Joyce's energy is being concentrated on finding Will, as it should be, but Karen's isn't, and she knows Hopper's not telling them everything.

You can't be a mother of three kids and a debate team captain who'd taken her team to state three times and _won,_ without picking up on tells.

He's hiding something and she'll weasel it out of him.

* * *

He should tell her. 

He should _tell_ her.

He _should_ tell her.

It's just... What if he's wrong?

What if the instincts his gut is feeding his brain are _off?_

What if his emotions are getting the better of him and he's transferring them onto this random kid? 

What if Joyce's kid really died at birth and he tells her his meagre little half-baked theory and he's _wrong?_

What _then?_

It's not his place, and it's not his business.

So why does he still feel like a total douchebag? 

* * *

The 7-11's automatic doors are blown out. 

They're on her trail now. 

* * *

He's real tired is the thing. He's had a long week. It's been one of those crap-chute types of weeks for good ol' Reuben Jenkins. Granted he ain't have a missing kid to contend with, but he's got a pregnant wife and tiny terrors who have the nerve to be called two year old boys runnin' wild in his home, _and_ a haughty mother-in-law all crammed into his suddenly too small abode, so yeah.

It's been a long week in a series of long weeks and he just can't muster up the energy to be suspicious of these four teens in his shop right now. 

Business is business. 

'Sides, they don't look like the troublin' sort. Too clean-cut for that. 

They dump a bunch of random crap at his register and he rings it up, no questions. 

_One_ question. 

"What you kids doing with all this?" Due diligence and all that.

The Wheeler girl, Karen's 'un, pipes up with some smart-Alec remark and he leaves it alone. He'd gone up against her mom in high school debate and he can't imagine her progeny having a tongue less sharp than hers had been. 

She says monster hunting, but he records it under Hunting in his files, putting the boy's name down on the forms and pretending he doesn't know it's a fake ID. (He honestly can't believe that ol' Hunter's still in the fake ID business. His technique is _still_ ass though.)

He sends them on their way and washes his hands of it.

He hopes Joel Lightningrod has a good hunting trip though.

* * *

Karen corners him when Joyce goes to the bathroom to wash her face. She doesn't ask questions, just levels him with a pointed eyebrow. He doesn't cave like a house of cards, but it's a near thing - a Pavlovian response after years of his mother giving him that look before a whooping. 

"You wanna fill me in?" She asks when her #1 fails. 

He balks. 

He _can't._

Her hip juts out and the eyebrow gets somehow more pronounced.

He sighs. 

"You can't tell Joyce." He says finally. 

She agrees. 

She instantly regrets it. 

* * *

They're in the car now, and they're bonding over dead kids. _Not as dead as you may think, Joyce._

She can only presume the pain.

She'd been blessed. Three beautiful, amazing kids. 

_They'd_ been blessed. 

They'd also had that blessing taken from them. 

(Twice in Joyce's case.)

Once, through the government, if Hopper's word is to be trusted. 

Her heart goes out to them.

They didn't deserve this. 

This should never have happened. 

If she gets her hands on that slimy, disgusting rodent of a man, she'll - 

She doesn't get to finish her thought. 

The radio on Hopper's belt crackles to life. 

The voice on the speaker is muffled, but still thankfully clear. 

It's Callahan. 

"Okay, Powell, I've heard some pretty wild stories in my day -" 

"This _is_ your day, dipshit, you're like 12." Powell's voice is relaxed in a way that means he's not aware that he's being overheard.

Hopper's about to reach for his radio and reprimand them for being dumbasses, but Joyce grabs his wrist and implores him to wait. She wants to hear this. 

"Shut up, asshole." Callahan retorts, but there's no bite in it, he's used to the ribbing. "But that Troy kid? Real fucking wackjob, I'd say. Probably didn't get enough attention from daddy and seeks outside validation or something." There's a long silence that probably indicates Powell is looking at Callahan oddly. 

"Some crockpot doctor was on Letterman the other night, blabbing on about bullies. I mighta watched it, so _what? Anyway,_ my point is, kid probably made it all up to get attention from his momma."

"Well, _obviously."_

"You'd think it'd _take_ more than that absolutely bananas story, though." 

"Yeah." Powell sounds less invested than he'd been in the beginning, which is a _feat_ because the amount had been _not very much_ before.

Callahan, bless him, does not pick up on that at all. 

"I mean, a _little girl_ breaking his arm with her _mind?_ _Sure._ I mean, I guess I'd've written it off as some dumb children's game gone wrong, and him making the whole thing up out of sheer humiliation, but to say she'd been hanging with Will Byers' little troupe? That would imply that _he'd_ been hanging with those kids and historically, that's not been the case." 

They talk more, but it's mostly static to Karen, who'd heard Will Byers' friends as _Mike_ and promptly shut down. 

He was supposed to be _safe._

_Safe at home with his sisters, not entangled in this web with her._

Oh God. 

_"Drive,_ Hopper!" She begs, all but reaching over the headrest and starting the car herself. 

She's vaguely aware of Callahan saying "Oh, shit, my radio!" But it's background noise to her pounding heart at this point. 

Her kids are in danger. 

* * *

They find Eleven. 

They find Lucas. 

The First Blood Pact is honoured. 

Now to find Will. 

* * *

They pull up to the overturned maintenance van at the same time as a shockingly familiar BMW. The odd quartet of Nancy, Barb, _Steve Harrington_ and _Robin Buckley_ pile out of the car and stare at the wreckage.

Karen bridges the gap first, torn between wanting to shake some sense into her daughter and hugging her tightly.

Hugging wins.

"Oh, sweetie!" 

Nancy hugs her back just as tightly, bringing home just how dire the stakes are.

"What are you doing here?!" She demands once her heart settles and the blood flows back to her brain. "Where's your brother?"

 _"Mike?_ What? I don't..." Nancy tries to form a sentence, but her brain stopped working the second _her mom_ got out of the back of a _police car._

"This is really touching and all, but we can all play Fill in the Blanks later, okay? Right now, we gotta find Mike before _they_ do."

The Chief's pointing up at - is that a _helicopter?_

 _"For Mike?"_ Nancy gets out eventually, before she's being dragged into Hopper's car by the man himself, plopped down next to her mom.

They peel off. 

Behind them, the BMW has little choice but to follow them. 

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah, Callahan sits on his radio. That's how the whole squad gets together. I hate it too. It was between that and them somehow picking up context clues from the blown out windows of the convenience store and I went with the lesser of two dumb ideas.
> 
> The Byers boys will be back in the next one.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sibling bonding! The gang's all here! I attempt suspense! I fail :(
> 
> Nobody has much to do in this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was the anniversary of my grandpa's death and I was just not in the right head space for this story, but I'm doing better now and this was cathartic. (it was three years ago, I'm okay!) he was my favourite grandparent and I miss him everyday.

So, the house 011 had been hiding in had provided no information of value, of note, the father absolutely useless and the mother not in attendance. He warns the father of the danger she presents, and presses him but it seems he doesn't have much of a hand in raising his children. Pity. He'll find them though, of that he has no doubt.

* * *

Will has no idea how long he's been here for. He's tired and scared and hungry and just wants to go _home._ He misses his mom, and his friends, and physical human contact. He has no clue what this place is, but he does know he doesn't like it. He doesn't like how how his familiar world has been warped and twisted into this disturbing pantomime. He doesn't _like_ it here.

He wants to go _home._

* * *

They're _fugitives._ They're on the run from the government. This is not what he'd meant when he wished he could live out one of his comics. It wasn't supposed to be this _real._ His life wasn't _actually supposed to be in danger._ He was not supposed to wonder how his mom would take it if he _never came home again_. He was not supposed to wonder if he was even gonna make it to his 13th birthday.

At least he has his friends. 

But, fuck does this _suck._

* * *

They're gathered in Hopper's trailer, the seven of them, and it's _awkward._ No one is saying anything, and, honestly, Nancy doesn't even know where she'd start.

Her _mom_ is here.

Things are weird enough without this little addition, but here they are, sitting across from each other, not saying anything. 

Not saying anything pretty _delibarately._

"Why wouldn't you _tell_ me?" Her mom asks, breaking first.

There's a lot Nancy wants to say, a lot she _could_ say, but none of it would be enough. She picks at her nail polish self-consciously and says nothing.

"We don't talk anymore, Nancy." Her mom sounds so tired, so vulnerable and it breaks Nancy's heart. They _haven't_ been talking that much anymore.

There's so much she wants to say, so much she _should_ say, but it's not the time right now, not with Mike out there somewhere, in literal peril, not with everything going on.

Anything she wanted to say would have been interrupted by Hopper anyway, lighting his cigarette and taking a long drag.

Nancy's never been the type to smoke but for the first time in her life, she can kind of see the appeal.

"Who wants to start?" Hopper asks, and Nancy wrings her hands together.

"How about we do the whole exposition thing _after_ we find Mike?" Robin interjects and Nancy is thankful. God, her brother must be terrified right now.

"How would you suggest we go about finding him?" Hopper asks tetchily, glaring at Robin.

Robin appears unfazed. 

Nancy's skin goes cold. Shouldn't she know how? Shouldn't she be able to help? This is her _brother._

She hasn't talked to _him_ much either. They were close once. Back before high school, when she still had braces. Before she'd filled out. Before her skin cleared up. Back when her features were more waifish than elfin.

Before. 

One day, she'd looked into the mirror and realized that the pretty face staring back at her had _been_ her and something _clicked._

 _God,_ when had she gotten so superficial?

Had a handsome, popular boy _noticing_ her really been all it took?

"He has a walkie-talkie thing!" Her mom's voice cuts into her wallowing and she realizes the conversation had gone on without her.

"I got him a set for his birthday. He'd begged me for months, after Lucas got his."

Nancy shakes her head fondly at the memory. It was always a competition with those two. 

"He gave Will his old one." Joyce remembers, a bittersweet tone to her voice. A more prideful mother might have sounded hurt, or annoyed, but Joyce had known it hadn't been malicious. And Will, he'd just been happy to get them. 

Okay, now they have a plan. 

* * *

They're fucked. There's no other word for it. They're undeniably, irrevocably fucked.

The bad guys have the numbers and they're just four kids. Sure, one of them is a _superhero,_ and he guesses Lucas has his slingshot but what is that even gonna do against guns? 

Dustin kinda really doesn't find out if Eleven can stop a bullet with her mind.

He's had enough of seeing his friends almost die, thanks. 

He just wants to go back to Sunday, go back to Sunday and never have challenged Will to a race. He wants to go back to Sunday and invite Will to a sleepover. Wants to go back and just _give him_ the dumb X-Men 134 comic.

He just wants to go back.

The walkie-talkie crackles and _Mike's mom_ is on the other end.

He thought things couldn't get weirder, but the universe, as always is dead set on proving him wrong.

* * *

The town he'd grown up in had formed opinions on _just_ the sort of person that Martin Brenner was. They decided he was trouble even at a young age. _Sure,_ all boys were curious about what would happen if you held a magnifying glass over an anthill, but none of them had derived as much enjoyment from finding it out as he had.

He'd been the quiet kid, the boy who was more content to read in an attic than hunt for frogs with the rest of his schoolmates.

His father had been a spineless pathetic man; weak-willed and easily-led. He'd allowed his wife autonomy over him, allowed her to strike him, and be the dominant power in the relationship. 

His mother was cold, cruel and distant, only having a child because of lofty societal demands. She didn't have the capacity for love.

Martin had always admired his mother. 

He'd gone into the field of Psychology in the hope that he would have gained a better understanding of her.

He'd found a different sort of enlightenment instead. 

The human mind was a _fascinating_ thing.

The more he learned, the more he wanted to discover, but the field was filled with cowards, thumb-twiddlers, rule-followers, paper-pushers who would rather _speculate,_ hem and haw, than find actual _proof._

He decided that if nobody was going to venture out into this untapped market, he'd just have to.

A lot of shady backdoor deals and under-the-table money-handling later, he's finally found success.

Sure, this was his third trial, but that hardly matters when you consider all that he's accomplished with this group.

Numbers 001 to 005 hadn't been much in the way of raw power, but they'd served their purposes, played their parts well.

006 had been _insubordinate._ A complication he'd had to deal with.

009 had been so full of promise, _potential,_ but he'd succumbed to the pressure, and a lethal concoction one of the scientists had been a little too trigger happy administering.

( _He'd been swiftly dealt with too_.)

He was actually quite proud of 008 and 010. Those two had guts, daring and ambition; the bravery to _leave._

Which left him with his star pupils. 

007 and 011 - his protégés.

The others, they'd all reached the limits of their abilities, but these two barely scratched the surface. 

Those two were _special._ There's no way he's going to let them go that easily.

* * *

They're safe. Her kids are safe. She hugs Mike and _he lets her._ It sinks in for her how real this is. There's monsters in the dark. She was never trained for this. She's not made for this. She's not cut out for this.

The little girl, Eleven, she's so young. So much tinier than Karen had been expecting. She's wearing Nancy's dress and she's drowning in it. She's so small and Karen just wants to envelop her in a hug.

She can only imagine the kind of life this child had to have led. The unspeakable horrors she'd had to have endured under the hands of that _man._

She finds in herself the unexpected capacity for violence. She wants to _hurt_ him. She wants to find him and make him squirm. That man had done some horrible things to this little girl.

And, if Hopper was to be believed, some horrible things to Joyce's _son._

Eleven calls him Papa. 

* * *

Mike's explaining the Upside Down to them, how it supposedly works. If it wasn't an absolutely terrifying place, Nancy would find herself enraptured in the conversation. As it stands, it's _horrifying._

She wishes they'd all just stayed the acrobat. She wishes she didn't know how thin the line was. She doesn't like that there's a gate, or that someone had decided that it was a good idea to try and open it. 

She hopes that wherever Will is, he's safe, that he's got enough left in him to fight. She was in that place for a few _seconds_ and it lingers in her memory still, she can't picture a _week._

A hand lands between her shoulder blades and she finds comfort in it, leaning into the touch. It's Steve. She smiles up at him. He winks at her.

It's the most absurd thing. 

It's nice.

It's a little bit of normality in this overwhelming chaos.

* * *

Eleven is brave. So, so brave. Joyce can't imagine any of this being easy. She can't imagine having this much pressure on her and not buckling. She can't imagine having all these people counting on you, _complete strangers_ counting on you and still being cooperative.

She would never. 

She hates to ask this. 

Hates to ask this little girl to risk so much for a boy she's never even _met._

She doesn't like asking this because she doesn't think that this girl even knows that she can _say no._

But she needs to - for Will.

She pushes away all her proclivities, all her inclinations, her moral obligations and asks anyway.

For Will.

* * *

The woman is nice. _All of them_ are nice. All of them are good. They aren't Papa. She now gets it. Gets that Papa isn't good.

Papa isn't what she thought.

He is dangerous. He is _Bad._

Joyce tells her she'll be there, tells her she'll be there if she gets scared. If she needs comfort or just a hand to hold.

She believes her. 

She's just glad that this time, this time she won't be _alone._

* * *

Footsteps. Loud and unhurried.

That _can't_ be good.

Will shuffles further into his hiding space, heart beating rapidly. His breath quickens and his pulse races.

He's not ready to die. 

He's _twelve._

He places his hand over his mouth in a vain attempt to muffle his breathing, knowing full-well that it won't make a difference. It's only a matter of time.

He winches his eyes shut. 

A hand clamps itself across his wrist and it's cold. 

A little girl. 

_Mom is coming._

She fades away.

The footsteps outside get louder. 

Mom? 

It's not. 

* * *

007 barely manages to find the boy before the monster does. As it is, it's still too close. He grabs the boy seconds before the monster does, yanking him away and dragging him out of his hiding place. 

"Come on." He barks, hand tightening around the smaller boy's wrist, pulling him along.

He resists instinctively at first, but fear and common sense have his feet moving for as long as it takes for his brain to catch up.

They're off and running and Will has no idea what's going on anymore. 

Eventually, they lose the monster, and Will recognizes the place they're in as the empty shell of Benny's diner. 

He takes a closer look at his saviour and blanches. This kid looks like his _dad?_ What?

He honestly wouldn't even be surprised if his dad had a kid with someone else, but that doesn't explain why he's here.

"Who are you?" He asks tentatively, surprised at the sound of his own voice. ( _He hasn't spoken in so long...)_

"Seven." The boy answers, eyes roaming across the space they're in, seemingly transfixed.

His eyes close suddenly and a look of intense concentration settles across his features.

"Eleven." He says after a long period of silence, and Will's about to respond - how he's supposed to respond to that non-sequitor remains unclear - when he realizes that he's not the one being spoken to.

This Eleven person apparently answers because the corner of the boy's mouth ticks up just slightly, and his entire face softens. 

"Yes, we're safe. I got him." 

The boy's eyes open and he looks directly into Will's eyes. 

"Your mom says she's coming to get you."

Will jerks in surprise at that. 

"What? My mom? She's here? She can't come here. It's not safe." He wants to see her so bad, wants to like a yearning ache, but he doesn't want her _here._ She can't come here.

Seven relays the message faithfully even though that hadn't been what Will had intended.

Seven whines suddenly, like he's tasted something awful. 

"You're making your mother cry." He says, and the inflection is so reminiscent of his father that Will physically recoils. 

"I didn't mean to." He says instinctively, curling away, making himself smaller.

The boy might look similar to his ( _their?_ ) father, but he isn't him, because he reaches out and squeezes his hand.

"She says she's coming anyway."

"She _can't._ " He states desperately, wishing she'd _understand._

Seven gazes at him, seemingly giving some thought to something. 

He closes his eyes again. 

"We'll come to you." 

* * *

"We'll come to you." Eleven relays what Seven had said, and Joyce's hand tightens in the girl's grip. 

How? 

* * *

"Come on." Seven gets up and Will follows, palms suddenly sweaty. He doesn't know this kid. He doesn't know anything about this kid. He has no idea who he is, or what he's even doing here, and he's supposed to just _trust_ him?

He looks around at the great empty nothingness outside, remembers the slick invasive chill that permeates the very essence of this place, thinks about being trapped here _forever_ and rapidly reconsiders.

He falls into step beside the older boy, reaching out and entangling their fingers together. 

The boy doesn't flinch like Will expected, or yank his hand away and admonish him for acting like a sissy like his dad might have done, instead grips his hand tightly and tugs them forward. 

They don't get too far before they hear a deep, unsettling growl that Will is getting intimately familiar with, somewhere close behind them.

They run. 

They run but Will knows it's gonna be hopeless, that the beast is too close for them to evade for much longer, and he's just _so_ tired, so done and he just wants to _stop._ He's done - tapped out, there's _nothing_ left.

He stumbles and Seven is there suddenly, urging him forward, egging him onwards.

"Your mom needs you." He reminds Will, and it's like a lifeline, gives him a sudden burst of energy and he pushes forward. 

They find an alcove, well-hidden by shrubbery and leaves, and Will ducks down into it, but Seven doesn't. He tucks Will in, makes sure he's hidden and turns away and _no, that's **so not happening,**_ he won't have this kid risk his life like that, not for Will, not today.

He tugs at the boy's sleeve, tries to draw him in with him, but the boy's resistant, stubborn and doesn't budge.

"Come on! We've gotta go!" He begs, gives one more distressed tug, to no avail, he's got solid balance.

"You need to get somewhere _safe._ " Seven tells him, shoving him deeper into the hiding place, having a way easier time of that than Will had tugging him.

" _We_ need to get somewhere safe." Will corrects, eyes wild, digging his heels in.

He won't leave him alone here, he won't just _leave._ "You've gotta come with me."

"The monster won't stop. I -", there's a barely perceptible pause, but Will catches it "I can stop it."

"You're _lying._ " Will proclaims, giving one more tug, succeeding in pulling the boy forward just a tiny bit.

"I'm not. Just. Just go, please. Your mom needs you." His eyes are wet, like he wants to cry, and that gives Will pause. 

Pause enough that 007 gets him further into the alcove. 

He puts his finger to his lips. 

His head tilts, and his eyes catch Will's. 

" _Hide_." 

Something overrides in Will's brain, unblocks a channel that he had no idea had even been clogged and the hairs on his arms begin to tingle oddly. Thousands of pins and needles explode under his skin, racing through his body, and Will looks down, enthralled. 

As he watches, his hands fade, his legs, his _clothes,_ everything disappearing until it looks like he's not even there.

What? 

_What?_

**What?**

He pinches himself to make sure he is in fact still _there,_ gratified to find himself intact, still flesh and blood and bone. 

He can still feel his form, feel the ground beneath his feet, the chill in the air, but it's muted somehow, like he's become unattached from it. 

He's _invisible!_

Ho. Lee. Shit. 

He's pretty sure this trumps having no collarbones, _suck on that, Dustin._ He thinks giddily, absurdly, for the space of a second, before the reality of it sinks in. 

He's _invisible?_

_The fuck?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That ending? Yeah, thank darkhaze20 for that, I did not intend for that at all, but their review made it so that I had to. I hope they like it, and I hope that that's what they wanted to happen. I have an outline for my take on Season 2 guys! It's about to be something! It's gonna have *gasp* an original plot! All the characters that I've sidelined or shoehorned in this one are about to have things to do!


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shit goes sideways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh. Writer's Block.

He's invisible. Okay. That's - that's _great._ That's _awesome_ actually. In context, it's really friggin awesome, but also really random and Will has no idea how to process this information. It's not something he knew he could do, but _apparently..._

It's a little overwhelming, Will has to admit, but pretty cool overall. When he gets over the initial shock, it's to find that Seven has somehow disappeared.

 _Shit,_ he thinks, and ventures outside.

Seven and the monster are nowhere to be found. 

* * *

So, they're waiting apparently. Waiting for Eleven's brother to show up with Will. Eleven's passed out on his shoulder, Dustin's on the hunt for pudding cups, Lucas is testing out his Wrist Rocket and Mike feels like he's slowly going insane. It just, it feels too easy. It feels like there should be, he doesn't know, more _urgengy_ or something. These past few days have been fast-paced, electrifying, like walking on a razor's edge and now? Now they're all getting side-lined?

Now they're all just sitting around an indoor pool in the school's gymnasium _waiting._ It doesn't make a whole lot of sense. It doesn't sit right with him to just _be_ here, to wait around for his friend to show up.

He looks up and squints over at Nancy's little court of friends. They're huddled together, whispering furiously, and it is his duty as a younger brother to find out what the hell that's about. He doesn't make it obvious, just manouevres himself into a position where he can eavesdrop easily. Under the guise of checking up on Lucas, he plants himself on the side closer to their group and perks his ears in their direction.

The snippets he catches don't make a whole lot of sense, but he definitely makes out Seven and monster in there, so he can assume they're plotting something. 

He better keep an eye out for them. 

* * *

Karen pulls Hopper outside and folds her arms. He sighs with his entire body, looking like he already hates this conversation, despite the fact that she hasn't even said a word yet.

She drags him further out into the courtyard and glowers at him until he caves. 

He stares at the heavens in a give-me-strength kind of way and rolls his eyes. 

"So." She exclaims, after he still doesn't give her any kind of response. 

"So." He parrots. 

_"Hopper."_ She sounds exasperated. 

"Fine. Fine, jeez." He still says nothing and Karen cocks an eyebrow.

"I don't think she really needs to know." He ends up saying and that floors Karen. It's a _bold_ statement. Is it an accurate statement? Debatable. Is it fair to Joyce? Karen would say no, but she's not the one this information will send into a downward spiral, now is she?

"I don't think you get to decide that." 

"I _know, okay._ I know. I just - this is all speculation. This is going off of _Earl Broly's_ recollection of events. I mean, he's one can short of a 6-pack, everyone knows that. What if I'm wrong? What if he's just some random kid and I tell her he's _hers_ and he isn't? I wouldn't want that for her."

It's a solid reasoning. A+ argument. Karen doesn't have a rousing counterargument to swing this in her favour. She really needs to get those debate muscles working again.

"What are we talking about?" It's Joyce, of course it's Joyce, hand cupped over her cigarette, lighter poised to ignite it, and Karen winces, unsure of how much her friend's overheard. 

"Tax season." Hopper blurts out and isn't that the worst lie? "Y'know, cause Ted's an accountant and you've seen my math homework. I haven't really gotten the hang of _that_ in the years since."

Joyce's face is a mask of confusion, but she takes a pull of her cigarette and makes to walk away. 

"Hopper thinks that the boy with Eleven might be your son." The words tumble out without Karen's permission, simaltaneously a relief and a tension all at once. She hadn't meant for any of that to come out, but that's what happened.

She winces, eyes tracking Joyce's feet, one still raised mid-step, the other pointed toward the school. She's got really tiny feet. 

"What?"

Karen falls silent. 

* * *

They have a trunk full of monster-hunting equipment in Steve's car. The way to his car is currently being blocked by what looks like the start of an intense argument involving her mother outside and her very obviously snooping brother.

Damn it, they'd had it all mapped out. 

Yeah, it was a dumb idea. 

Yeah, they could have gotten killed. 

Yeah, it was an irresponsible thing to even consider, but it was their best bet. It had seemed the only logical thing to do at the time.

Outside, an entire cavalcade of cars pull up.

The mood shifts. 

A silver-haired man in a suit steps out of the car and all the oxygen leaves the room with his arrival. Nancy doesn't know who this man is, but she can tell he's bad news. 

"Let's go!" she orders in her most authorative voice and it bypasses the common sense filter in everyone in the room and they book it out of there. 

* * *

When he finds Seven, his heart nearly stops beating. The boy is trapped under the monster, and it's leaning dangerously close to the older boy's face. It's not doing anything other than staring, seemingly spellbound by Seven's gaze. The boy's eyes find Will unerringly, so _precisely_ that he has to double check that he's still invisible, which yep, very much so, before his concentration is once again drawn to the monster.

He strains against the hold pinning him down, bucking upwards, only succeeding in digging the creature's claws further into his arms, drawing blood.

Will looks away. 

A bone-rattling scream has him turning back though and he stares.

Something monumentous is happening. 

He just has no idea what it could be. 

* * *

Deep in the bowels of the Upside Down, the Mind Flayer is awakened. 

The scent of blood lingers in the air. 

A powerful mind beckons; draws it in. 

* * *

He was right when he guessed that this would hurt. It hurts like a hot poker through the eye. He's struggling to get a hold of the monster's mind. He's struggling to make the connection he knows is crucial for the control he'll need to take away. It's a tenuous grasp he's managing to get, slippery and uncooperative. It hurts like hell to maintain and it's still not good enough.

He focuses. 

It's with a sick lurch that he discovers why he can't control it. 

The monster is not alone in its head. 

007 tries to pull himself out when that thought registers, but it seems the main player has become aware of him, and refuses to let go. 

* * *

Will watches in abject horror and both Seven and the monster pass out. 

He crawls back into his hiding place and weeps. 

* * *

"I can't let you go in there." Hopper says, tone clear and official, eyes firm. 

"We've reason to believe suspicious activity has been conducted here." A woman, hair piled up in a bun that looks incredibly painful, is saying, nose turned slightly upward. An air of don't-speak-to-me-peasant clings to her like a musty scent, and it irritates Joyce a lot.

"It's a middle school. It's a breeding ground for suspicious activity."

The woman doesn't like that, lip curling minutely. 

"We have every right to investigate this school." She tries again, pulling out a lanyard from the inside pocket of her suit jacket. It's a very nice jacket, velvet-lined and everything. It must pay well to have no soul. 

"We're inspectors." She explains again, about as convincing as she was the first time - which had been _not very._

She hands over the laminated ID and Joyce studies it, not liking how good the forgery is. She's had a fake once, twice actually, one of Hunter's absolute wrecks and one she's shelled out actual money for. That one had been convincing. That one she confused with her actual ID all the time.

This was top-notch forgery, but forgery all the same. 

She hands it over to Hopper, who barely looks at it before flinging it at the woman's face. 

It lands on the tarmac between them, the woman too startled to react fast enough to catch it.

"Your credentials don't mean shit."

The woman bends down slowly, in an obvious attempt at being enamouring. If Hopper had been in a receptive mood, he mught'a done something with an advance like that, but as it stands, he's not playing their games. He's not about to let these grubby, ruthless demons anywhere near that little girl again. Not if he has breath in his lungs. 

He stands his ground. 

* * *

They're hiding out in the science lab, tucked away under desks and trying hard to be inconspicuous. Eleven still looks bleak and the rest of them look freaked out. Robin has no idea what she's supposed to do right now.

If she'd just waited for Cupid to come back inside, none of this would have been her problem. She could have remained completely oblivious to this entire thing, and just carried on with her life. She curses her dumb luck and folds herself into a position that, while isn't comfortable, is easier to maintain.

"What do we do now?" one of the kids, the one with the peak cap asks, looking to them for guidance. 

And shit, they're the adult class now, they're supposed to... _something._ They're supposed to have, like answers, or whatever.

"Well, damn kid, I don't know!" Steve replies, looking slightly green. 

Or... not. 

"Nancy?" Her kid brother asks, looking at her for guidance.

"I don't..." Nancy tucks an errant hair behind her ear and sighs. "I don't know, Mike. I have no clue." She sounds defeated, at a loss and Robin can almost understand. For as long as she's known Nancy Wheeler, she's always been the girl with the answers. She's always been the first one to raise her hand in class. She was always this annoyingly perfect, preppy little teacher's pet and Robin had despised her. Little Miss Perfect, the girls at school always called her, Stacie being one of the most vocal, when they'd smoke up behind the school or under the bleachers. They'd all laugh and call her an uptight priss. Robin, she'd never been about degrading other women, but she was still complicit, never stopping it, and sometimes even chuckling along at some of the wittier things her friends would say.

Now, thinking back, she feels awful about it. It hadn't been fair, it hadn't been right to just hurl insults at someone who couldn't defend themselves, couldn't sling any back. It's catty and mean, and so _middle school_ that she's actually ashamed.

The Nancy she's getting to know would defend her if some girls started calling her unflattering things, and Robin has no clue if she'd do the same.

"The terrain is rocky and unfamiliar..." Robin is broken from her musing at Nancy's words, her tone pitched low and her words odd. She spares a look at the girl and Nancy's making her way over to her brother, drawing him to her side when she's close enough.

"The Party is outnumbered, outgunned. The only thing in their arsenal that's bulletproof? Their fighting spirit." She tugs at Mike's shirt lightly, smiling just a little. "See? Hardly a dent."

He honest-to-god giggles, a pure sound, and some tension in Robin goes out at that.

Mike picks up the narrative easily. "They're down a member, the..." He falters briefly, looks away, but gets it together remarkably quickly, continues on, "the _heart_ of the group, but they've picked up stragglers on the way. Bonds forged in the heat of battle are strengthening as they wait. A bridge mends itself back together."

It's syrupy sweet and loaded with cheese, but it still makes Robin feel a type of way, which is wild because she barely knows these two. 

"This is really sweet and all, but we do need a plan here, guys!" One of the other boys interrupts, the one still clutching a loaded slingshot.

"We improvise." Nancy states, getting up from her crouched position and dusting herself off. 

* * *

Okay, so that's hot. Steve thinks before he can help himself, taking Nancy in.

That's really fucking hot.

He clears his throat and looks away when Barb notices, scratching at the back of his neck awkwardly.

She rolls her eyes and looks away. 

"What do we do?" She asks, getting up and joining her friend, who's studying the lab with intent. 

She grins suddenly, dangerously, and Steve doesn't know what to make of that. 

Her eyes land on the bunsen burners and her grin widens.

That's creepy. 

And, it's _gotta be said,_ still really fucking hot.

* * *

Will sneaks out of his hiding place when he doesn't hear anything after a few minutes. Seven is very much still passed out. The beast as well. It's slightly less creepy when it's not actively trying to kill him. It's still _very_ creepy, but not as much. 

He skirts past it and makes his way over to Seven, checking if he's still alive. He's reassured by the steady up and down of the boy's chest. 

Breathing. 

Thank God. 

His eyes land on the points of contact between the beast and the boy, the claws still digging into his arms, but no longer pressing down. The cuts aren't deep, but they are plenty. He very carefully dislodges one of claws, relieved when he doesn't accidently exarberate the injury. It's a painstaking process, but he manages to get all the claws out without too much damage. He rips up one of his undershirts and uses that to dress the wounds, making quick work of it. Even so, he still barely gets it done before Seven's eyes are snapping open, startling Will badly enough that he falls onto his ass.

"You okay?" He asks, reaching forward to get a closer look.

He shrinks back when he catches a glimpse of the older boy's eyes. They're cloudy and unfocused, his pupils blown wide. It's nothing short of terrifying. 

Will watches as blood starts dripping from the other boy's nose, a steady stream of it, running down his cheek. Will reaches out with the cuff of his shirt and wipes away the worst of it.

He entangles their fingers together, hoping it will provide comfort for whatever the hell is going on in his head. 

To distract himself, he tries to figure out how to make himself visible again, with minimal success.

He takes a deep breath and settles in.

* * *

"You took my son from me." Joyce proclaims, glaring daggers at the man in front of them. "You took my son and made me believe that he was dead. You expect me to help you? You're never gonna get that girl." She squares her shoulders and steps closer to him, digging her fingers into his chest, shoving him back. "You're gonna turn around and you're gonna leave. Cut your losses and get the Hell out of my town."

Brenner actually smiles at that, letting out a deep chuckle. 

"Oh, you are too precious. I see where Seven gets his spirit from now. I had wondered."

Joyce locks her knees to prevent herself from keeling over. 

She looks at Hopper, sees the shock she's feeling mirrored on his face, the pallor of his skin, the absolute sick feeling of being right shining clearly across his features.

"You absolute _bastard."_ She proclaims.

"We don't have time for this." The woman beside Brenner declares, gesturing with a flick of her wrist, and the fleet of soldiers surrounding them move forward as one cohesive unit.

A mother's wrath has nothing on that.

* * *

The blank emptiness is such a strong contrast to the White Room that 007 is speechless. Here the silence is loaded, slightly terrifying. Here in this silence, he knows he's not alone. He can feel the presence of a million eyes all staring at him, judging him, deciding his fate.

He gets up, kicking at the beast at his feet.

His footfalls make a disproportionately large echo behind him, his breaths overly loud.

"Hello?" He croaks out.

The voice that answers comes from all sides, and seemingly nowhere. He feels its presence in his bones, in his blood, in his very soul.

"You are not what I was expecting."

"Sorry to disappoint."

"I want to _keep_ you." The voice says, and an icy finger of dread slithers down 007's spine.

"Can't imagine I'd be any fun to have around."

"On the contrary."

007 feels a dark presence try to twist its way into his mind, to mould and change him into something foul and wrong.

He brings his walls up and he hears the voice shriek, back away as if burnt. 

_"Oh._ I like you."

"Who are you?" He asks, feeling slightly ridiculous talking to empty air.

The voice doesn't answer, instead asks a question of its own.

"Were you the one to open the gate?" 

"Yes." Seven lies instinctively, which turns out to be a mistake. The apparition takes a hold of his body and steals the oxygen from his lungs, forcing him to his knees.

 _"Lie_."

007 steadies himself on one hand and brings his shields back up. This presence is _strong._

"I don't know what you're talking about."

The presence lets out a sickening sound, devoid of life. 007 realizes it's supposed to be a _laugh._

An awful, horrifying fascimile of one, but a laugh nonetheless.

"I _really_ like you."

007 shudders.

"What do you want?" 

That odd rattling laugh again. "What everyone wants." A heavy pressure on his shoulder, icy breath in his ear. " _Power."_

 _"_ And you, well, you're positively _dripping_ with it."

007 braces himself this time, but is still knocked over with the force, teeth clicking together, rattling loudly in his head.

"I won't let you in my head." He informs the thing, jaw set, breathing rapid.

"That's cute. You think you have a _choice."_

007 concentrates on his shields, making them as impenetrable as he dares. It's hard work to keep them up, but he has to.

"You have to send me back." He tells the beast, hoping, perhaps foolishly, that he'll be listened to, that it can be reasoned with.

"But there's still so much _fun_ to be had."

"Another time" He says lightly, trying to appeal to its sense of playfulness.

"That's not going to work for me." It says, appearing as a physical form, albeit an abstract one, a black cloud.

"What will work for you?" He asks, figuring out that this is the only way he'd get freedom.

Maybe, if he'd had 011, they'd have a better chance of getting out, but he doesn't want her anywhere _near_ this place.

It's as he's thinking this, that he makes the connection. _This_ is why they ran.

This was what had scared 011 badly enough to get them out.

This is the place Papa had made her open.

"I just want you to _stay._ " The tone is joking, but the words aren't, if the suddenly confining presence is anything to go by.

"I can't do that."

"Are you sure I can't _convince_ you?" the jovial nature has all but vanished, leaving only malevolence.

"I'm sure." He answers, not daring to let his terror show.

"Hmph."

That same dark chortle. "A compromise then."

007 doesn't want to bargain, not really, but he knows he doesn't have much of a choice. 

"Okay." 

"Hide and Seek. I'll seek."

007 freezes. 

Considers. 

Sighs. 

"Fine."

If the apparition had a face, 007 imagines it would be grinning. 

"But first, a parting gift." He's enveloped in a cool rush, heady and intoxicating.

His eyes are forced closed and he feels himself falling, knees slamming hard onto the ground.

The dark chuckle follows him into unconsciousness.

* * *

When he opens his eyes again, he's staring into Will's concerned gaze.

* * *

They're armed now, with makeshift molotov cocktails and it's surreal. This whole thing is absolutely nuts. They're about to go up against bad guys with _guns_ with improvised weaponry and it's psychotic. They're all out of their friggin minds.

Lucas adjusts his grip on his Wrist Rocket, looks at his friends and takes a breath. If he has to die, there's no other people he'd wanna die beside.

* * *

It's easier than it was to reach into the beast's mind, and take control. 007 doesn't like it. Doesn't like it all.

* * *

They don't really have much choice but to follow the soldiers and Dr Brenner. Hopper pulls his gun out and keeps it at his side, though Joyce can't imagine what good it'll do against an entire troupe of soldiers with heavy artillery.

Maybe it's like a security blanket. 

Joyce wishes she had something like that.

* * *

The lights flicker.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is... I honestly don't know. You'll notice that I've decided how many chapters I want to have. One more and and epilogue. Thanks to all of you who stuck around, those that were here from teh beginning and those that stumbled in along the way. Can't believe almost done.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The battle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this in one sitting and now onto the mountain of chores waiting for me.

* * *

It's when Will has figured out how to get his fingers visible again that Seven's eyes flutter open. He sits up and casts his eyes around him, seemingly in a daze. The monster at his feet stirs, and Will backs up, terrified.

Seven takes one look at the creature and tilts his head. "Up." He instructs.

Will freezes when it listens, stunned. 

Is that what Seven had done to him? 

"Come." The creature shuffles along mindlessly, following Seven like it's nothing and Will scrambles to catch up. 

He goes to stand on the side of Seven furthest from the monster, sending quick glances at it to make sure it doesn't break free from whatever hold Seven's got it locked in.

They lapse into an awkward silence. Will's really starting to hate silence. 

He starts talking, not really about anything, in particular, just whatever comes to mind. His friends, his art, Mr Clarke, the bullies at school, all of that. 

Seven doesn't respond, but nods along, clearly listening. 

"You can take your shield down now." Seven says when there's a lull in the conversation. 

His shield?

Oh, right! The _invisibility._

He'd almost forgotten.

"I, uh, don't actually know so much _how_ to, is the thing." He admits after a beat, scratching his head.

"You don't?" Seven seems confused at that, brow furrowed, head tilted.

"Yeah, I didn't even know I could turn _in_ visible, let alone how to _turn back._ "

"You didn't always know?"

Will shakes his head, feeling weirdly insecure. 

"You weren't _trained?_ " There's the unmistakable sound of heartache in Seven's tone and Will doesn't know what to make of it.

His eyes dart around for a place to land on, not daring to meet Seven's own. He's _very_ uncomfortable now.

Seven seems to regain his composure, looks dead ahead and sighs. His eyes are suspiciously wet, but the tension in his jaw gives Will second thoughts on addressing it. 

"You need to focus." He tells Will, looking at a point in the distance, not maintaining eye contact. He doesn't say anything else.

Will knows the conversation is over.

He sticks his hands in his pockets and puts his head down, tries to think _visible_ thoughts.

In front of them, the school building blooms into view.

* * *

Barb trusts Nancy with a lot of things. Partner in a two-person group? Nancy. Detailed notes on a class she'd missed? Nancy. Fashion advice on an outfit she thinks she looks frumpy in? Nancy. Nancy is the kind of girl Barb would trust with her life. 

She just never thought it would be this _literal._

She never thought she'd be looking to her friend for advice on _just how much nail polish remover should we measure out for this bomb to be at its most effective_? She doesn't think this is the kind of thing they cover in the best friend handbook.

She still listens when Nancy gives her best guess though, measures out the number exactly, and grabs a rag from under one of the desks.

She really does not envy the cleanup crew who'll have to deal with this whole mess. 

She takes a look around at the hodgepodge group of teens and tweens around her and wonders why _they're_ the ones dealing with this. 

Would she have preferred to be sidelined and taken away from the action? Maybe. Did anyone think to ask her? Absolutely not.

Nancy, from across the room where she's giving the in-case-of-emergency axe a few test swings, gives her a wink.

Barb gives her a salute with the beaker of nail-polish-remover-bomb solution and she giggles. 

Barb flashes back, absurdly, to the time in eighth grade when Nancy had left school early to go to the orthodontist to have her braces tightened and they'd had a similar greeting. It's a happy little nugget to unbury, albeit an odd time.

A loud groaning, like old pipes, has her looking above her head, for the source. The walls start to shake, crumbling apart as they watch. The lights flicker and everyone tenses up.

 _When the lights start to flicker, that means the monster is coming. It will be your only warning._ Ms Byers had instructed, looking them all square in the eyes, tone serious, body language firm.

_Here we go._

* * *

When Brenner finds 011, he smiles. Her little protection squad is laughably defenseless. Their ingenuity has to be admired, but the followthrough leaves a lot to be desired. The teenagers have set themselves up to be the first line of defense, leaving literal children to be her ultimate form of protection if worse comes to worst. How _quaint._

The leader, he's assuming, based on how everyone seems to be looking to her for guidance, stands apart from the group, gripping an axe tightly, sneer firmly in place. 

"We won't let you get to her." She informs him, grip steely on the handle of the axe, knuckles white.

"Oh, really? How are you going to manage that?" The guns behind him are all pointed at the little group, and the girl takes a tiny step backwards. 

"Mike, NOW!" she yells, and one of the boys reaches behind him and turns the lights all off, blanketing them in obsidian darkness.

Chaos reigns. 

The newer trigger-happy guards fire off into the darkness, providing light with the infrequent muzzle-flashes that accompanies their shots.

When the lights are turned back on, the kids are all gone, scattering in different directions and, if nothing else, Brenner has to admire their resourcefulness.

* * *

They catch up with the kids by some divine intervention, running into them completely by accident. 

They all look relatively unharmed, if a bit spooked and Karen really can't blame them.

"Is everyone okay?" She asks, peering at them with intensity, as if she can assess any physical damage by willpower. They look unhurt, but she can't imagine the psychological toll this will take on them in the long run.

Her gaze falls on Eleven, who, it looks has finally recovered from her ordeal, leaning on Mike for support. 

"You okay, sweetie?" She asks, reaching out to put her hand on the girl's shoulder. 

She nods slowly, eyes glassy but refocusing.

"Where are the others?" Hopper asks, directing the question at one of the boys.

"Diversion." Dustin answers, and something in his tone makes Karen aware that he still finds this kind of cool. She admires that ability of his, the one that allows him to compartmentalize, to still be in awe of everything and hopes that that never gets snuffed out.

"Okay. So now what?" 

Before an answer can be given, a high-pitched shriek that Karen recognizes as Nancy's is heard in the distance and Karen's heartbeat spikes.

From around the corner, Brenner appears, and behind him, trapped in chokeholds are the teens, struggling to break free.

Karen's heart sinks. 

* * *

"It's very simple," Brenner begins, adjusting the lapels of his suit, straightening out his cuffs. He takes a step forward and, as one, the group takes a step back, forming a protective circle around Eleven.

"Hand over the girl and you all go free." 

Mike laughs at that. 

It's either nervous energy or foolish bravery, but he laughs all the same. This guy, he's all bullshit. He's smarmy and ruthless and a fucking liar. 

"We're not handing you _shit._ " Dustin proclaims and pride swells in Mike's chest for his friend. Damn straight.

"Oh, okay then I guess we'll just _take_ her then." He steps forward.

It happens so fast that Mike almost misses it, but Hopper strides forward, gun in hand and he levels it right between the asshole's eyes, pulls the safety back.

"One more move and I'll scatter your brains out across the floor." He says, and no one in the room doubts the validity of the threat. 

Brenner's hands come up to his sides, and he takes a half-step back. 

He tilts his head to peer at Eleven around Hopper's frame. 

"At least tell me where your brother is. I can't _i_ _magine_ he'd leave you alone like this."

Eleven starts shaking, gripping Mike's sleeve tightly and buries her face in his arm.

"You sick fuck." Hopper exclaims, bringing the barrel of the gun back against Brenner's skull.

The man is undeterred. 

Mike kinda envies the guy's confidence even if he's the absolute epitome of mouthbreathery.

"I meant no harm. I was merely curious as to where my other... _experiment_ had gotten to."

Mike bristles.

Damn does this dude know how to get under someone's skin. 

"I'm right here.".A new voice declares, making Mike jump.

He turns around and there's a kid _in_ the wall. Behind him is the demogorgon. 

"Mom!" There's Will's voice, but a noticeable absence of Will. 

Ms Byers seems to be temporarily displaced by something rushing at her full-force and Mike kinda blanks out.

Seven looks weirdly crestfallen about it and Mike has absolutely no idea what the hell is even going on. 

"Reveal." Seven mutters, and the place next to Ms Byers suddenly shifts, and then _Will is standing there._ Will is standing there with his arms locked around his mother and for the first time in this week from Hell, Mike finally feels like he can breathe.

" _Will._ " He sighs out, voice pitched low, as if afraid that making it any louder will break the spell.

_"Mike."_

It hits Mike in that moment that it's real, Will's _actually_ standing there, and he rushes to his friend, trapping him in the tightest hug humanly possible. 

The rest of the party have a similar idea, because they do it at the same time, causing the four of them and Ms Byers to fall into a graceless dogpile on the floor.

"How _touching."_ Brenner remarks drolly, eying the scene with contempt.He locks eyes with Seven and sidesteps Hopper, who's grip on his gun had loosened watching the reunion.

"Seven." He stares at the boy with an emotion Mike can't identify, but he does know it's making him supremely uncomfortable to watch.

"Come back home." His voice is all friendly and soft and if Mike wasn't aware that the dude was evil incarnate, he'd honestly buy the whole schtick.

"The both of you should come home. It'll all be okay. We'll all be a family again, you'll see." He makes to move closer to Eleven, who shrinks back, conveniently into Karen's arms, who pulls her away from Brenner.

"You won't touch them." She admonishes. "We'll bury you. We'll bury you and your whole sordid organization. And these kids will never go anywhere with you _again."_

_Go mom._

" _Oh_? And who's going to stop me? You? I don't think so." He makes a hand signal, and all the guns not attached to the chief's hands are suddenly pointed at them. 

Mike's heart beats double-time, pulse racing.

Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit.

 _"They're_ not." Seven voices, climbing out of the wall fully, jumping down and stepping forward until he's right in Brenner's face.

"I am." 

Brenner chuckles, arms folded, leaning back casually.

"You and what army?" 

007 tilts his head and gives him a crooked grin.

" _Yours._ "

Mike watches, torn between horror and glee as all the guns in the immediate vicinity find a home trained on Brenner's face.

* * *

He doesn't want to think about what the implications of this being so easy might be.

He reaches into countless minds, differentiates between enemies and allies, and plants an order.

It's easier than it should be and he doesn't _like_ it. 

Normally something of this magnitude would give him pause, make him assess, reevaluate, look at the situation and see how far he could push his boundaries.

For this, he didn't even have to _think._

There's hardly a pressure in his head from trying to control all these people and it scares him. It's not that he doesn't like unlocking his abilities to its fullest, it's that he doesn't like how it had happened.

He doesn't like that that _thing_ had unlocked it for him. He doesn't want to acknowledge the fact that he'd agreed to play some horrible, disturbing game with some dark, twisted entity and this new power means he _has_ to. It means he can't sweep it under the rug and pretend it never happened.

A look of alarm flashes briefly across Papa's face, before it's replaced by its usual smug countenance.

 _"Well,_ seems like you've learned a new skill out there in the wild."

007 glares.

* * *

Seven looks so much like Lonnie that it scares Joyce a little. He looks so much like Lonnie that it's almost impossible to deny that that's Jonathan. It _has to be._ It's undeniably the son she thought dead, undeniably _her_ son and it breaks her heart. It wrecks her to think that somehow, some way, that's her son and this man had taken him from her. This awful, despicable, disgusting man had taken her son and done unspeakable things to him, experimented on him, made him into a _weapon,_ all while convincing her that he'd died in childbirth.

All those years of absolute misery, and hatred of herself, her body and her mind and for _what?_

When he glares though, a look so much like Joyce's steals across his features, that any lingering doubt vanishes from her mind.

" _Jonathan."_ She whispers. It appears he hears her, because he swivels around and looks directly at her, face a mask of confusion.

"Mom?" Will asks, and she reluctantly breaks eye contact with the boy to look at her other son, a broad smile on her face.

"You okay, baby?" 

He nods, tightening his grip around her waist, and breathing her in. 

"I really missed you." He admits. 

She buries her nose in his hair and cinches her arms around him, pelting him with kisses that she wouldn't be able to get away with in any other circumstance.

"Missed you too, bud." 

"Okay, Chief. How about we come to an agreement?" Brenner says suddenly, not breaking eye contact with Sev - _Jonathan_ \- but addressing Hopper.

"How's that?" Hopper asks, gun held loosely, still pointed at the man, even though the threat has been greatly reduced.

"You let me take my children and walk out of here. You let me take them and we never have to see each other again." 

Hopper laughs outright at that. 

"Man, I'd say you've gravely misread the situation. Any leverage you've had, has disappeared."

"I don't know, I still have all these kids." He gestures behind him to where the soldiers still have Nancy and the rest trapped.

"Get them out of here." The soldiers make to move backwards, but one look from Jonathan has them all freezing in place.

"Let them go." He sounds bored, impassive, like he couldn't care less, and the soldiers rush to comply.

Nancy falls into a fighting stance almost immediately after being released.

"No." Jonathan says, looking at her, a warning in his eyes. "No more fighting."

He cuts his gaze to Eleven and looks back at Nancy imploringly.

" _Go."_ An invading presence in Joyce's mind bypasses all sense and makes her legs move. It would seem it's the same for the rest of them, who all troop out and find themselves outside, except for Hopper, for some reason.

Eleven bucks against Karen when she realizes that her brother isn't coming, but she's still too weak to get out of her grip.

She claws and scratches but Karen doesn't let up, and it's a mother's intuition that allows them to know that, for whatever reason, Jonathan hadn't wanted them in that room, hadn't wanted _Eleven_ in that room, and they're going to honour that.

 _"Seven!"_ She screeches, trying one more time, unsuccessfuly, to break free, but Karen doesn't let up.

"You don't need to see that." She whispers into the girl's hair, trying to keep a firm hold on her without hurting her, but she's scrappy, slippery and it's hard.

She finally settles down, bursting into tears, and Joyce's heart shatters.

They fall into silence. 

It's broken by Dustin, who's come to a realization.

"Dude! How long have you known that you could turn invisible?!"

* * *

Hopper watches as everyone else files out, seemingly without their control and glances at the boy. His features are set in an unreadable mask and Hopper's not quite show what to make of it. He knows he wasn't sent away for a reason. This kid is gonna need him for something.

"Seven." Brenner is saying with that steel-disguised-as-silk voice of his, edging closer to the boy.

The boy turns away, gesturing with his head at the monster, who edges forward the tiniest bit.

That stalls Brenner, halting his step. 

"So you _can_ control the beast." He acknowledges, grin evident in his tone. "I had wondered."

"What do you want, Papa?" He asks, leaning back against the wall, seemingly unbothered. And why should he be? He holds all the cards. 

Hopper's not entirely sure why he's here.

Still, his grip on his gun doesn't falter, his eyes not leaving the scene. 

"I just want you to come home, boy." Brenner explains, sliding next to Seven, who bristles, and gets the demogorgon to move forward a bit more as a warning. 

"I just want us to be a family again."

Seven rolls his eyes. 

"We're not family. We never were."

"Then what were you, Seven?" 

"Weapons." The boy states boldly, sure as sure. 

"I was good to you." 

Seven laughs at that. 

"Lie." 

"I never hurt you." He tries again to get closer, thinking maybe his infrequent displays of affection will help the boy remember his place. 

"No you just had _them_ do it." His head whips around to glare at the gunmen around them. 

"I made you _great._ " He's saying now, the first sign of frustration bleeding into his tone. 

"I didn't ask to be great." 

"I made you better than you would have been otherwise. I made you who you are now."

"You can arrest him now." Seven declares, turning away from him, fight leaving his body. "Just _take him away."_ Hopper reaches down for his cuffs and makes his way to the man, manages to slide one bracelet around his wrist before the man finds his voice again.

"You know that won't _do_ anything right, _007?"_ The inflection in his voice makes Hopper think that the man doesn't see him as a person, but rather a series of digits, a number on a clipboard and he tightens his hold on the man's wrist, pressure enough to break it. 

"I'll be free by sundown tomorrow. And _then_ I'll come _back_ for you." His tone is lined with promise. A clear threat. 

Seven turns back, spine taut, face hurt in recognition of the truth of the words.

"There's only one way out of this for you." 

Seven shudders. 

Hopper's grip goes slack in realization of what the man is implying. 

He can't possibly - 

He's just a _kid._

_Surely he can't mean..._

His next words hit the final nail into the coffin.

"It wouldn't be your _first_ time." 

The boy's shoulders are shaking with held back tears, jaw squared, fists clenched. His eyes are lit up in anger.

And a little resignation. 

"No. But it would be my _last."_

Brenner smirks, straightens out his suit a final time, the handcuffs trailing from one lone wrist with the motion. 

"Do it then." His tone is mocking, daring, smug in the absolute knowledge that the boy wouldn't dare. 

"Just like you taught me right?" 

Brenner's eyes widen a millisecond before Seven sets the beast after him. 

Hopper barely gets out of the way in time. 

Seven doesn't look away. 

When it's done and there's nothing left of Brenner to even send home in a casket, the boy looks at the surrounding men and women and gives them one instruction. 

_"LEAVE."_

He levels the monster with the same instruction, with one tiny addendum. "Don't come back." 

It's only when the threat is completely neutralized that the strain his abilities had put on him starts to show, only when the monster is out of the way that the boy shows any sign of faltering. When he's sure that his people are _safe,_ his eyes roll into the back of his head and he's falling back.

Hopper catches him just before his head hits the ground. 

He secures his arms under the boy's knees and hoists him up carefully, put off by how light he is. 

With all that power, Hopper was expecting him to be heavier, but he's lighter than air. 

He carries Seven out to the rest of the group, not looking forward to having to explain. 

The paperwork on this is gonna be a nightmare.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The epilogue will hopefully tie up any loose ends and set up my season 2 which is in its very early stages so it might be a while for that, but I am so proud of myself for getting this beast done. Drinking game idea: Every time the word beast or monster shows up, take a shot. Or not, don't get alcohol poisoning on my account. I hate how much times it's in here. I literally couldn't think of a better word and I don't think anyone outside of the Party used it until the end, so yeah.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's an adjustment... for everyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The epilogue.

**November**

"He doesn't want to be separated from Eleven." Hopper says, fast like he's ripping off a bandaid. Joyce still flinches, reluctant to accept it as fact. The _him_ in question, is Seven, and the thing they're discussing is where's he's going to go after he's released from hospital. The general consensus is that he and Eleven stay with Hopper, at least until the whole mess can be sorted out completely.

Joyce and Mike don't want that. They have _very_ strong opinions on it actually, and they're not willing to budge - at least not easily.

"He's my _son,_ Hopper." is Joyce's reasoning.

"I _promised_ her." is Mike's.

It's really not their decision at the end of the day, and Eleven's not willing to give them anything concrete until Seven's better.

Hopper's nerves are frayed. 

He's tired and battered and drained. 

It's too much for any one man.

He takes his tepid, weak coffee with him out of the hospital building and leans against the wall. He has no idea what they want from him. It's hard enough to look at Joyce with her kid and not feel _burning_ envy, knowing that _that_ could never be him. He'll never get a reunion with _his_ dead kid. He'll never get to see Sarah again, hold her in his arms, love her, regret the years he missed out on with her, because she's _never_ coming back.

It's hard enough to do that, but when he adds on the extra knowledge of _what the boy had done to_ _Brenner_ onto it, it becomes unbearable.

He tells them that the monster had slipped out of the kid's control and attacked Brenner. He tells them that when the demogorgon had fed, it had then disappeared.

He lies. 

He lies and doesn't feel guilty because these kids have been through enough. Mike and all the rest, but Seven and Eleven specifically and they really don't need their actions examined through a microscopic lens right now.

They don't need to be scrutinized and they don't need the fragile trust they've given to be shattered.

Besides, it's not like it's even the kid's fault. It's not like he asked for any of it.

But still, Hopper's wary, Brenner's last words rattling around in his head.

"It wouldn't be your _first_ time."

It makes him sick to think of what the implications of that could possibly be. 

* * *

As much as he'd like it to be, Hopper's trailer is just _not_ suitable for two kids. It's too small for one thing, and very much a bachelor pad. So, they're moving.

Moving is apparently a team effort because everyone turns up. Of course, only Karen and Joyce are actually helping, the rest all crowded around Will, who's been practicing his new skill. 

Seven and Eleven are supervising, sitting cross-legged on the floor with him and having him close his eyes.

Hopper pauses in the middle of wrapping his plates in newspaper to observe. 

It's silent for a full two minutes before Will gets frustrated.

"This is pointless!" He says, standing up and walking away

Seven and Eleven share a significant look.

Eleven goes and stands next to him, whispering something into his ear. He exhales with his entire body and rolls his eyes.

"You don't get it. You guys always knew you could do this." He admits softly, tugging at his sleeve. "I wasn't even aware this was something that could happen outside of comic books."

A pained look fixes itself on Seven's face, and Hopper can only imagine a similar look is on Eleven's.

Will blanches when he realizes and backpedals quickly. 

"What I meant was..." 

Hopper takes stock of the situation and declares a lunch break. 

_Now,_ what pairs well with awkward situations? 

* * *

Robin decides that Seven needs a piercing. She makes up her mind about it and it just makes sense. He just seems like the kinda dude who'd rock a piercing and she remains sold on that fact. 

It's just something she intuitively knows. 

No one's gonna refute that, not even Seven. 

She's struck up an odd friendship with the kid. She can't really explain what the root of it is, but she knows that it's solid. 

Their bond has even gotten Stacie off her back about boys, with the girl thinking she's shacking up with some rando and Robin's honestly fine with that. It saves her having to have the terrifying Conversation. 

She decides that she's gonna get Seven a piercing a few days after she comes out to her parents. The two events don't really have any correlation, but they're linked in her mind.

It's just something to distract herself with. 

It's not that the conversation had gone _bad,_ it's that it _hadn't_ and that's tripping her up.

She'd been prepped for a lot of things - except of course them being okay with it. Her mom had barely blinked, and her dad had hugged her tightly, leading them all to a little group hug right in the middle of the kitchen. 

She decides that all that misplaced nervous energy has to be re-used towards some reckless self-expression. 

She then of course has to have a partner in crime for this and can't think of anyone better than Seven.

He doesn't say no. (Mostly because he isn't given much of a choice, but Robin's trying to be optimistic so...)

She decides that she's gonna get the entire shell of her ear pierced and Seven surprises her by saying he wants the same. 

She can tell the piercer looks slightly weirded out and she gets that. It's not typical for a guy to get those kinds of piercings, maybe _one_ on the _left_ side, but a bunch? That's not how things are done.

She doesn't know how to explain it to him, doesn't know how to tell him that he'd be making a Statement with a move like that, one that might not even be true.

_But._

He also grew up as someone's little lab experiment, stripped of his own choices and the opportunity to discover who he is for _himself_ and frankly it would make her the biggest kind of hypocrite if she told him that he couldn't do that.

"You heard 'im." She tells the piercer, gesturing at Seven's ear as if to say _hop to it._

The artist complies, and Robin watches as Seven's eyes take on that carefully blank look that means he's turned off one of his senses, and she can't stop herself sneaking a peek at his tattoo.

She wonders if he knew that trick when he got it, or if that's the reason he learned how to.

The artist looks at the tattoo and his lip quirks up. 

"Fan of James Bond, huh?"

"Something like that." Robin mutters, taking Seven's hand in her own, squeezing it so he has something to focus on. 

When it's all said and done, Seven looks pretty rad. It suits him, the whole pierced look and she tells him that. 

He grins awkwardly.

Maybe they'll come again. 

* * *

Nancy and Barb take it on themselves to introduce Eleven to stuff like cosmetics and dresses. They only do that because they can tell the girl likes it, enjoys it and it's _fun._

It's fun in a way it hasn't been in a long time. It's fun because for the first time in a long time they're not dressing up with a boy in mind. They're not dressing up to gain some guy's approval. They're dressing up for them, and it's suddenly so simple. It's suddenly like everything makes sense again.

It's nice to hang out as just girls, even when Mike tries to steal Eleven away, tries to make her come down to the basement and hang out. Some days she does go with him, but most days she stays.

She's getting really good at saying no. 

* * *

Karen, Hopper and Joyce are all sitting in what used to be Hopper's kitchen, but is now storage space for a bunch of moving boxes, sipping at various beverages.

The silence is awkward, and heavily felt.

This conversation isn't one they really want to have, but one they need to. 

"So, what happens now?" 

And that's the thing, isn't it? They don't know how they're supposed to move forward from this. They don't know what their next move is supposed to be.

They have these two kids, with no idea how the world works, who can do incredible things with their minds and what?

They're supposed to be put in a different kind of prison, now? With a new set of rules? 

No one can know what they can do, no one should ever find out, but to keep them locked up with Hopper? That doesn't seem right either.

There has to be a middle ground. 

Right? 

* * *

**December**

Steve hasn't looked in the back of his car since this whole thing ended. He hasn't put anything in his trunk in weeks. His backseat has sufficient space for all his random crap, so it's not like it's a massive inconvenience.

He doesn't want to open his trunk and have to be confronted with the knowledge that that shit actually happened. They were actually thinking of going up against some monster that _tore a man to shreds_ with _hunting equipment_ they barely knew how to use.

It's not like the evidence isn't right in front of him with Seven and Eleven, it's just _different_ with them.

They look like normal humans. 

The thing is, he could return the items. He could return them and get his money back, and carry on with life as usual, but something is holding him back. Something is stopping him from doing that. 

It's just. 

He doesn't think this is over. 

* * *

Will's practicing his invisibility again. Or at least, he's trying to. It's a little easier this time, but it's still hard. Having a superpower is cool in theory, but the application of it leaves a lot to be desired.

There's a lot of headaches and nosebleeds and it really drains him. The other two have similar problems, but they have the added bonus of actually being able to _use_ their abilities. It's a little disheartening to be honest, but they both assure him it'll take some time.

It's just a little disappointing. 

* * *

Hopper finds himself ill at ease in his new home. It's an unfamiliar house with a whole new set of sounds that he has to familiarize himself with. It means a whole lot of late nights, sitting at the kitchen table drinking coffee and staring into the abyss.

It's on one of those nights when he hears something from the direction of Seven's room and decides to investigate.

He finds Seven, tossing and turning, clearly in the throes of a nightmare and he freezes.

This is a situation he's not equipped for. He doesn't know what he's supposed to do here.

With Sarah, it was easy, crawl under the covers and hold her, whisper sweet nothings in her ear until she stopped shaking, or opened her eyes, or eventually fell back into a restful sleep.

He doesn't know the protocol here. 

The last time he touched this kid was when he'd picked him up all those months ago and he'd been unconscious for that part, so Hopper's running blind here. 

He doesn't know if Seven's touch averse or if he secretly wants someone to hold him and tell him everything's going to be okay.

His deliberation costs him because whatever monsters lurk in the kid's dreams finally chase him back into reality with a sickening lurch. 

He doesn't notice Hopper standing there awkwardly; crumpling in on himself and letting out this horrible weeping sound that will follow Hopper into _his_ nightmares, soft and broken and so, so tired.

His shoulders shake but he doesn't get loud and that settles like oil and water in Hopper's gut, the fact that _this_ is this kid's gut reaction. 

Sarah used to wail and shout and kick up a big fuss, even when her nightmares were trivial things like the witch in Hansel and Gretel offering her candy.

Even when her dreams got more grounded in reality, when her nightmares became more about what happened After, she'd still scream and cry and beg daddy to save her. 

(That was the most heart-wrenching sentiment, the fact that this was the one thing he couldn't save her _from.)_

It's while he's lost in thought that Seven notices he has an audience.

Hopper shuffles awkwardly, about to say something when he witnesses another thing that make him hate the dead bastard Brenner that much more. 

The second Seven recognizes he's not alone, something in his expression shifts, something Hopper only catches because he's staring _right at him_ when he does it. 

There's an expression on his face so heartbroken, open and vulnerable and so fucking _raw,_ it makes Hopper take a half step forward, only for him to freeze a second later when he blinks and the boy's wearing a blank face again.

His entire face shifts, the guards slamming up right in front of his eyes, transforming him from the frightened boy he'd been into this unrecognizable man with a boy's face. 

He smiles a crooked little half-smile, but it's emotionless, empty, cracked wide open and it's jarring. 

"Go to bed, Hopper." 

Hopper does. 

* * *

Nancy holds a pink crop top out for Barb's inspection and the girl wrinkles her nose.

"Not really you, Nance." She declares and Nancy is inclined to agree. 

"Not for me, for Eleven." 

The nose scrunch again, after a slightly longer consideration. 

"Too babyish." She decides upon and yeah, it's a little more for girls that are Lucas's baby sister's age, not Eleven's.

She sets it back onto the rail and keeps looking. 

Her face positively lights up when her eyes fall on a charm bracelet that would look really good on the younger girl and she drags Barb over to it, who nods her approval. 

They buy two extra charms for it and a little gift bag and continue on their hunt for Christmas presents for the rest of them.

* * *

"What's Christmas?" Eleven asks, dragging an eggo through her maple syrup. 

Her question is aimed at Seven, who shrugs, his own plate empty already, his cheeks stuffed with food.

A stunned silence follows the question, with the boys looking on at them in shock. 

They're at Mrs Wheeler's house, at her insistence, for a breakfast spread that could feed them 10 times over and still have leftovers.

"You've never heard of Christmas?" Predictably, it's Dustin who voices the question, stumbling into it with no thought given to tact.

It takes him a second to recognize his blunder, (for all of them really) to realize _why_ and he shifts awkwardly, suddenly embarrassed.

"Uh. I mean. Why... would... you... _have?"_ He powers through it, eventually stuffing a croissant into his mouth to stop himself talking.

"It's like, well it's like. It's just _Christmas."_ is Mike's subpar addition. 

"It's corporate greed packaged ato the masses as holiday spirit." Is Robin's, who happily takes a sip of orange juice when everyone trains their stinkeye on her.

"Ignore her. It's like just time with family, with _friends."_ Nancy tries her best to explain in a way that Eleven will understand and hopes it's enough. 

Eleven smiles. 

"You also get like a buttload of gifts." Dustin can't keep from adding.

* * *

Christmas is a magical time, indeed for Eleven and Seven. It's warmth and love and a salve over the horrid burn that was their childhood. 

It's light and colour and a thousand things that they don't have the words for. 

There's something in the air, something that they'd never had before and it's nice. 

They don't understand what gifts are, not really. 

Seven understands it to be like the little drawings Eleven would give him sometimes, of them with Papa, but on a bigger scale.

Love is the founding principle behind it, and it's a new and formidable emotion. 

He doesn't get it.

With Eleven, he's always known one thing: Protect. It's a simple thing, a singular action, and something he can do easily, but this _love_ thing? It's wild.

Robin give him a tape, something she'd worked on, songs he might like. 

She'd noticed that he liked that kind of thing, that when he listened to certain songs his face got a little less pinched. His shoulders settled a little lower than his ears, and it all came down to music.

Music she gets, music is a personal thing and she's so glad that she gets to be the person to introduce it to him, make sure he gets the right education, and she hands him a tape. 

It's something so personal, like giving a piece of her heart and she hopes he likes it. 

He gives her a smile that's like looking into the fucking sun and she grins right back. 

If this what true friendship is like, she never wants to lose it.

Eleven adores her bracelet, It takes pride of place on her left arm along with the blue band Hopper had gifted to her. She looks delighted at having received it and had hugged the girls tightly.

It's an all around great Christmas. 

So of course things can't stay good for long. 

* * *

She finds him in Benny's diner with a cold cup of coffee and a plate of stale fries. He's reading the newspaper, but he's not taking anything in.

It's been like this for a while, and Karen has been too focused on making sure Eleven and Seven had a perfect Christmas to focus on someone not in her constant vicinity like Hopper.

She has a moment to spare so she slinks into the booth across from him and nudges at his arm until he notices her. 

"You okay, Hop?" She asks charitably, because everything about him gives off the indicator that he's very much _not._

He's slow to answer, dragging a fry through a pool of ketchup to delay his response.

He's writing out the P in his last name with the ketchup when her patience runs out.

She flicks the fry back onto the plate and gives him a Look.

He sighs. 

He prefaces it by saying "You're the worst person I could be telling this to." and, well, Karen can't even be offended by that because the last big secret he'd laid out at her feet, she'd ended up spilling at the worst time to the worst person.

"I get that." She says after a beat but doesn't move. 

He doesn't tell her, but she can take a guess. 

She can take a stab in the dark and hit it right in the heart without too much effort on her part. 

It's about That Night. 

It's about Seven.

It's nasty and ugly and it's probably best if Joyce never finds out. 

"He didn't lose control of the monster, did he?" 

Hopper winces and she knows she'd hit the nail on the head.

Her pulse jumps a little, her palms suddenly sweaty. The room is suddenly too hot, too confined, too small and it's like everyone is watching, listening, waiting to hear the rest. 

James Hopper, town Sheriff has invited a killer into his home. 

James Hopper has _adopted_ a killer. 

That thought chills the blood in her veins and helps her regain her composure. 

He's a _child._

He's just a kid. 

He's Nancy's age and he had no choice. 

She doesn't know if that thought makes it better or worse. 

* * *

The words still ring in Hopper's head like a death knell.

_It wouldn't be your first time._

He's terrified of what that could mean, and horrified at what it implies.

Just how many times has Seven had to make a choice like that? 

And would he make it again? 

* * *

They're gathered in the basement, all of them, waiting for the countdown to begin. 

Steve is amusing the kids with some dumb card trick and Dustin is enraptured.

Barb is reading over one of Mike's older campaigns in the corner, curled in the one-seater like a housecat, clearly content, while Robin has taken over the stereo and is forcing everyone to listen to Good Music. Seven seems to be enjoying it, so no one's really had the heart to take control back.

All around the room, everyone seems to be having a great time, but something still makes Nancy uneasy. She can't tell what it is and it's driving her crazy. 

She just knows that they're on borrowed time here, floating along in a bubble and are about to come face to face with a pin.

Brace for impact.

* * *

Seven thinks it's just a headache. He'd been getting those a lot lately. Too much outside stimuli wreck havoc on his senses and his brain alerts him to the issue by giving him a headache that forces him to go lie down.

It's one of the drawbacks of unquestionable freedom. 

He thinks it's just a headache and doesn't give it a whole lot more thought. 

That's his first mistake. 

His second mistake is not telling anyone about these near-constant _migraines._

He's too used to taking care of himself to even give the idea of someone else taking care of him much brain space. 

It's just too crazy to even entertain the notion. 

Total laugh riot.

It'll go away if he just ignores it, he tells himself somewhat delusionally, ever hopeful. But they don't, instead, they get worse, leaving him sick and drained after a while, shaky and nauseated.

His third mistake, his most costly one, is he forgets about the Mindflayer's game. 

He forgets, cocooned in this little safety net, he'd forgotten that evil lurks around every corner. He'd forgotten that nowhere is ever _truly_ safe.

He'd forgotten to be paranoid, vigilant and prepared. 

It costs him. 

* * *

The headache had started earlier that day, a tiny insignificant little one that didn't even crack his top 10. It's easy to ignore this one, because it's not even a major one, just a slight twinge. 

That night, it feels like his skull is trying to tear itself open and it hurts so bad. 

He wakes up and bites clean through his bottom lip to stifle the scream threatening to burst from his throat. It's an intense pain, awful and cloying and like nothing he's ever felt before.

His head feels twice the size of his body and hurts like it too. He levers himself up out of the bed, makes himself get up, making liberal use of the bed posts as he does. He finally manages to get up and half-crawl, half-stumble to the bathroom where he flicks on the light and winces at his reflection.

He looks awful, pale and sickly, eyes sunken in, skin almost translucent under the fluorescents. The only spot of colour to be found on him is the long trail of blood currently painting a red path down his chin from the sluggish cut in his lip. 

He dabs at it with his knuckle, watching as his arm moves in the mirror, feeling completely detached from the action of it. 

It's like his body is someone else's entirely and he's just along for the ride.

He splashes cold water onto his face and tries to shake the morbid thoughts away. 

He looks up into the mirror again but jumps back when he catches his reflection. 

There's no imagining it this time. The face in the mirror is not him. 

It's _his_ face yes, but it's not _him._

His reflection tilts its head and Seven's heartrate picks up.

His reflection had _moved on its own._ He takes a step back, wants to take a thousand more, but that would mean alerting Hopper, alerting _Eleven to_ this and it's not something Seven's willing to risk. 

He skips over the obvious question of who are you because he has a feeling he already knows and tries to keep his line of sight on the door, backing up slowly. 

"You don't look happy to see me." His reflection mocks in a spot-on impression of Seven's voice. 

Seven's positive that if he laid on the ground now he'd be able to cause an earthquake with how heavy his heart's pounding. 

"I'm not." He says honestly, not daring to raise his voice. 

"Aww, but I thought you were enjoying our game of cat-and-mouse." His lips turn up in a sickening parody of a smile and Seven resists the urge to toss his lunch all over the floor. 

He doesn't say anything in response, hoping he can make it out of the bathroom before the presence gets bored and decides to take drastic action. 

His plan for _after that?_ A little hazy. 

"I promised I'd find you." Not-Seven states, smiling that bone-chilling smile again. 

"I always keep my promises." His face morphs into its true form for a split second, but Seven doesn't get a good look before the thing is bursting out of the mirror, sending shards of glass directly into Seven's face, slicing his cheek open and distracting him enough to lower the crucial guard that had kept the presence out of his head. 

It's his last mistake. 

The presence takes the opportunity the brief distraction offers him and takes the form of an amorphous cloud, disappearing into the boy's mind and sinking its claws in deep. 

The mirror, that just seconds ago had been nothing but shattered glass held together in a wooden frame, repairs itself to its previous form in the space of a second. 

The wound in Seven's cheek knits itself back together. 

The thing inside Seven opens his eyes, runs his tongue over his teeth, and smiles. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There you have it folks, the first time in my life I can ever say I completed a fanfiction. 
> 
> This took a long time and it's well, it's this.  
> I know it feels a little rushed but that's because there's a lot of elements I want to explore in my next installment which j had to set in motion here. 
> 
> I don't celebrate Christmas so I kinda just...
> 
> Yeah.
> 
> Anyway. Hopefully you enjoyed and I'll see you in the next one. 
> 
> A special shout out to bytheinco_nstantmoon and Linet19 for super morale boosts and Darkhaze20 for being the best (all three of y'all, seriously words don't do it justice) and scoutshonour for noticing this train wreck and reading it?
> 
> See you in the movies kids, stay classy San Francisco and other cliches.

**Author's Note:**

> This is stream-of-consciousness, written entirely on my phone. It is what it is. Feel free to hate it.


End file.
